Kidnap
by LilyHellsing
Summary: Bart lives alone. He lives on whiskey & vodka to drown his pain of loneliness. One day he runs into Sideshow Bob & accidently ruins his plan to kill Krusty. Still, after so many years he is able to. So Bob kidnaps him. Are these feelings love? Or lust?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I guess I'll be doing the Bart/Bob idea although I had my heart set on the OC/Bob idea. However, to please myself, I am going to put Bart's life similar to what the OC girl's would have been. Btw, I'm unsure about Maggie's age so am just gussing.**

**Idea: Having just moved across Springfield to live by himself (without being choked by his father, nagged by his mother, and made to feel dumb by his sisters) Bart finds it's hard to live alone. Although this 16 year old attends school still, he feels isolated and alone, ignored by all in a sense. Turning to alcohol, he accidentally foils Bob's new plan. What will happen when he not only gets kidnapped by said man, but realizes he lusts after him as well?! Will he live through it all? And who is this surprise guest I've mentioned? :P**

* * *

"That's it!" Bart shouted, anger coloring not only his tone but his face as well. "I'm leaving! I'm sick of being treated like a doormat!" Gasps from the Simpson family rose as he continued, "I'm tired of Marge treating me like I'm younger than Maggie! I'm sick of being told off by Lisa, you know it all! I'm fed up with being strangled by Homer for no reason! And I'm so tired of you all fussing about Maggie! She's eight years old already and she's taking up her 'smart' sister's attitude!"

"You…you can't leave! You're not legal age!" Homer stood up from his couch, which had left quite an imprint of his heavy set body. What did Marge see in him? That was a question that always stumped him; Why would Marge settle for something so...less than what she could have gotten?

Bart snorted and grabbed the small bag that he had packed earlier. "Wanna bet?! My birthday's next week and when I turn 17, I'll be legal enough to say kiss my ass!" With new age came new words, replacing 'eat my shorts'. Calmly yet quickly, he stepped outside. Luckily the sound of heavy footfalls did not follow him, meaning no one was coming after him.

He was now leaving the place he called home for so long. So many good memories matched so many bad ones. He could hear the sobs from his mother and sisters and the growl (was there the sound of fist hitting the wall?) made from his father. Closing his eyes, he walked through the yard. He looked back once more to remember such a crappy built house and sighed.

Then he walked away.

* * *

A month had passed since the incident. Bart had celebrated his 17th birthday all alone; not even Milhouse or Nelson would come over! So he had ordered a small pizza, a small cake, and was going to get soda when he noticed something. Next to the soda was vodka, whiskey, beer…alcohol.

What was the big deal about it anyway? His father spent a good portion of his life sitting at Moe's drinking when he wasn't sitting down on the couch. What was so addictive about it? He remembered tasting it once on accident and absolutely hated the taste! Then again…it had been cheap beer he drank.

Despite the law saying you must be 21 to drink legally, he bribed Apu into letting him have the vodka. Later that night, he drank it all. He understood why Homer had drunk such a drink; it numbed the pain. Of course the next day, which sadly happened to be a school day, he was hung over.

He attended school every day, barely scraping by with a C. He could have made high B's, even perhaps a low A if he really wanted to, but what was the point? The teachers ignored him, his 'friends' forget about him, even his own family refused to acknowledge him!

He never went to church again. Hardly anyone would notice and if they did notice he didn't go, no doubt they would be happy. All he did there was cause trouble…well, that and poke his father who slept during the whole thinh.

No doubt that he was feeling down. Although he promised not to be a drunk like Homer, once or twice a week he would buy some vodka or whiskey. It was strong stuff, very powerful but it tasted good after you got through the burning sensation.

The place he had found to live at was a small abandoned like house. It was old, yes, but in better shape that his old home. He managed to hook up a T.V., put some food in the new refrigerator, and bring his room from home to this new one. He rarely ever turned on the light when he got home from his small job at another store near by. Usually he'd let the T.V. light keep him company until he fell asleep on the reclining sofa.

It was a decent life.

He really thought he would be able to live happily. He really thought that if he saved more money and got a better job, that he'd be able to live freely. He thought wrong though.

The very next day of the month anniversary that he left…he ran into Sideshow Bob again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Come on people, wake up and review please so I know whether to continue or not!**

* * *

One month and one day had passed since Bart Simpson told his family off and left for good. He half expected to receive a visit, a plea, or a note or something from them, asking him to come back. Of course though, he got nothing. He was alone once more just like any other day.

This was why he thought today would be normal. He thought it would be boring, uneventful, full of sorrow and reruns and…just plain. The very last thing Bart expected was to run into Sideshow Bob…or rather trick into him.

It was a little after noon when he decided to walk to the City Square. Why? Well…honestly, he had no idea. Something inside him told him to take a walk, to calm his feelings. After all, he couldn't just stay locked up in that dirty old house forever. He needed to have some sunlight shine on his skin to make it healthy.

As he walked on the sidewalk, he glanced down to study his feet. He'd need to get new shoes soon since there were two holes in them. They were untied too, but oh well; he'd tie them at that bench over there. He noticed Krusty the Clown was sitting there.

Boy had he gone to hell in the past few years. By the time Bart turned 14, a petition was sent around town to kick the clown off T.V. All he did was drink, gamble, lie, and do drugs. He was a bad influence on kids, many said, and some even dared used Bart Simpson as the 'perfect example'. So he had been kicked off television and replaced by, ironically, Sideshow Mel, the tentative shy man. So there was Krusty sitting on the bench, fat, looking like death warmed over twice, and…smoking.

Bart walked over to have something to use when he tied his shoe. Something told him that if he bent over to do so…his pants would rip. The 17 year old started his way over when he tripped. The untied laces got stuck under his other foot, which he tried to lift in vain, and he stumbled. Struggling not to hit the ground, he slammed into a man who grunted. A gun shot went off wildly.

Everyone looked over and gasped, some screamed even.

Sideshow Bob wearing a black hat and trench coat holding a quite literally smoking gun. Bart was on top of him, having just fallen and crashed into said man. The bullet that was shot was lodged in a tree right next to Krusty's head, who had fainted from the shock.

That's how the trouble all started.

* * *

Next chapter: More detailed into Bart's life; school, job, house, etc. Then we see him become 'famous' and a 'hero' for foiling Bob…even though it was an accident. But Bob escapes from jail! Review please.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much to those who reviewed. Sorry but fanfic won't let me check my reviews **

He groaned softly as he opened his eyes, seeing who he had landed on. Mentally, Bart made a note to buy shoes without laces next time, perhaps those Velcro things instead. When he saw who he was laid on, his mouth ready to open and apologize, he found himself shocked. There underneath him was _the _Sideshow Bob, ex-clown sidekick and attempted murderer. Instead of apologizing, it was safe to say, he let out a yell.

Lucky for him, Bob's scowl soon became small as he felt arms grab his own, lifting him up. They pulled him away from the scary older man and, shockingly, Chief Wiggum managed to arrest the ex-clown without messing anything up. He smiled at Bart, "We have a hero! Bart Simpson has saved Krusty the Clown; again!" Everyone glanced at the fainted clown who was struggling to wake up. There were several rounds of cheering; with each making Bart's inside turn to ice.

After Bob was driven away in the police car, glaring at Bart all the way, several reporters showed up. Krusty had awakened and was thanking Bart, shaking his hand. Flashes blinded both of them as they were captured on camera. Questions attacked them relentlessly, some repeated by more than one person.

Needless to say, Bart was stunned, shocked, and felt very much like curling up in a corner. After a month or so of being basically isolated had made him very unaccustomed to such publicity and attention. He managed to stutter out a statement, "I-I'm glad I saved Krusty…" What more could he say?

* * *

Although the house he found was basically free, Bart still needed a job. He needed to pay a low bill of water and electricity as well as food, clothes, and entertainment. So where could he work at?

A store would be nice but one that was not robbed twice a week. Honestly, he wondered as he walked past Apu's store, why didn't the man just get more security and get Snake locked up? So many things wrong with this town…

So he got a job at a small town near by his home, across the city basically. It was a boring place with a harsh boss, but fair. Six dollars an hour wasn't the best, but at least he had money in his wallet twice a month. He cleaned, stocked, sold things…so on so forth.

Of course since he had saved a life by catching Bob, a lot more people came to that store. They longed to congratulate him, they wanted to see him, so on so forth. His boss was so happy about the spike of business that he raised his pay to seven dollars an hour!

Many people started to talk to him. His old friends even started to speak to him again! Even strangers, sometimes who were really journalist, would talk to him. In fact, he was offered a new home by Krusty, he was offered a new job in the new show (by the clown who took Krusty's job), and he was offered a talk show. However…he turned it down.

So as any onlooker can see, his life was going well. And yet…and yet he was disturbed. He was happy in a sense because he knew he should be. Yet…something was missing. Memories of his ten year old life, well, all of them came back. Every thing involving Bob when he was ten years old flooded his mind, making him shiver. Would this terror start up again?

It was easier when he was living with his family. He could count on them, or at least some of them, to watch his back and help. This time though, he was alone...but he wouldn't crawl back. If they were worried, they certainly didn't show it.

When he went to school the next day, he slyly watched Lisa and Maggie. Through the crowds of surprised people, grateful ones, fans, and fake friends, he watched their expressions and their actions. Much to his surprise, they showed nothing. They went through their classes with bored expressions, lazily taking notes down, answering questions with ease. During lunch, they sat with their friends and laughed.

…Did they even realize that Bob could go after him?

Or perhaps they didn't worry because the man was in jail. Jail usually held prisoners in, keeping the rest of society safe. Well, that was what it usually did. At times, especially in Springfield, the system would…fail.  
"Oh well…" He thought as he clocked in for his job. A small smile was on his face. He would worry later after earning hard cold cash. He went over to the fresh newspaper and started to put them up for sale.

His mouth dropped and he felt suddenly faint as he read the head line.

**"Sideshow Bob Escapes!"**

Next chapter: Bart's worries; school; stalking; Simpsons. Review please.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to Swisssmarie, ****Sacharissa Lupin****, ****Yami-Kjata****, and ****Telling Stearson**

* * *

Feeling rather light headed young Bart stumbled back into the store. He grabbed a bottle of cold water and drank some, leaning against the counter as he pressed the chilled plastic against his forehead. His vision was coming back slowly, becoming clearer and less 'fog' like. However, the fear he felt stuck like gum to a shoe.

Sideshow Bob…escaped? How little time had passed so swiftly! He had felt safe knowing the man was locked up and felt some odd sense of reassurance that was he okay since his family didn't worry. When he was younger, the idea of him escaping was terrifying. In fact, it happened quite often. Sometimes he would escape but most of the time, he would get out legally and act innocent.

Well what should he do? What _could_ he do? He very well could not go back home to his family and asked for refuge and protection. They would laugh in his face and he'd be humiliated. No, he would have to keep living his life. He would attend his job, school, and go back home. He would bring a knife with him, a pocket knife that could fit in his shoe, just in case.

But…did he really want to? Wishing he had a slushie instead of water, he wondered what life meant to him. Sugar always made things better. Inwardly, he grinned weakly; chocolate was for girls, slushies was for guys. Then again, he also like chocolate a lot…did that make him a girl? No, first things are first; worry about Bob.

He was alone, surrounded by awe-struck fake people. He lived alone in a decent home…that felt like a box. Loneliness surrounded him. He had no intention to go to college for nothing really interested him. So what and where was his life heading towards?

Should he lock himself up in his not-so-good home? Or should he keep living, fearless? That was stupid to even think…fear pulsed through his veins…it was what started this whole thing in the first place. He would keep living normally though…just be very careful.

"Bart!" His boss snapped for, by the sound of his annoyed tone, the third or fourth time. The young Simpson glanced up, curious of what he wanted. "Why are you so ill looking? Take the day off, I can run the place myself." Lucky for Bart, he was in a good mood today.

So with great reluctance, Bart walked out of the store. His eyes scanned the area and, seeing no visible threat, he walked to his house. The sidewalk was hot from the sun which seemed to shine down relentlessly. However, he felt no heat on his skin for his thoughts were far elsewhere.

Sad to say, just because he saw no visible threat did not mean one wasn't there. Behind a tree stood Robert "Sideshow Bob" Terwilliger. He was as thin as always, easily hiding behind the rather thick tree and his hair was as crazy as ever, blending behind the branches. He could see Bart but Bart could not see him.

His plan was simple; stalk the boy, learn his habits and usual whereabouts, and kidnap him. Wait…no, he was not a boy, he was a young man. Bob thought about that as he walked behind him. Surprise colored his eyes as he saw what 'house' Bart walked into. When had he moved away from his family?

* * *

The bell rang, ringing loud and clear in the stale air of the building it hid in. It was an annoying sort of alarm for the students, old and young, that reminded them they had classes to go to. They had work to do and lessons to learn, even though most would question the value of these lessons. When would they use them in real life? The teachers heard this bell also, groaning softly. Their patience, after all, were only so long and they were human; it was natural to want to get away from the students as much as possible.

However, there were three main students that no one could ever get enough of. One of them was recently famous, recently wanted…until his heroic act, no one wanted him. There was the youngest one, Maggie Simpson. She was as creative as her older sister was smart. The second was Lisa Simpson. The third, as mentioned previously, was Bart Simpson for his heroic act.

They were well known at school, bottom line. That was all that needed to be said.

The goths, the emos, the punks, the plastics, the preps, the hicks…every stereotype knew who they were and, most of them, loved the Simpsons. Of course if they really paid attention to them, they would realize that Bart no longer went home with his sisters. They would have realized, perhaps, that he lived alone.

But who honestly wants to know every detail of a person's life when they can just talk about them, making up lies and talking of rumors? They weren't all bad, the rumors of course. Some were good, some were made from jealous. It was easy to tell what was truth and what was diction. So since they did not watch or pay much close attention, they did not realize the truth.

After school ended, which resulted in Bart failing every paper he was given on purpose, he started to walk home. He was definitely more careful for he carried a small pocket knife in his shoe. Just as he started to walk off, he heard a familiar voice say, "Be careful Bart." He glanced behind his shoulder and his eyes widened; it was Maggie! She was looking up at him with those big eyes of hers, pleading in a sense. Then, she went off after her older sister on the bus.

Perhaps they did care if he was safe or not from Bob…

* * *

Next chapter: Bart goes home, depressed as he thinks of his family. He drinks whiskey…guess who's at the window! Review please.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to Sacharissa Lupin & Yami-Kjata for reviewing

**Thanks to ****Sacharissa Lupin**** & ****Yami-Kjata**** for reviewing! Yes, I know Bart doesn't seem to be the type to drunk but in this fanfiction, he does. Fanfiction means fiction written by a fan. Just saying now so no one gets pissed.**

* * *

Home…love…family…what do these three words have in common?

The feeling of safety. This was what Bart Simpson lacked. He placed his hand in his pocket, grimacing in annoyance when he felt his thumb slip through one of the many holes on his old jeans.

As he walked into the store he worked at, he bit back a rather heavy sigh. There was a rather large man waiting at the counter, flipping through magazines while waiting to be rung up. Placing his work place hat on, Bart walked over and said somewhat in a monotone voice, "That's five dollars even, sir."

"What a rip off!" The gruff voice sounded. "Here!" He slapped down a five dollar bill. He grabbed the Duff beer and walked out. Something made Bart have the urge to look up at the man as he walked away, tearing his eyes from the register and money.

A silent gasp left Bart's chapped lips as he stared. The large man carrying a six pack of Duff beer was no other than his father, Homer Simpson! How had the man not noticed his own son was working before him? Or perhaps he did, and just didn't care. Or maybe he was half drunk and didn't notice shit…which seemed to be the most reasonable explanation, considering he just stumbled onto the ground.

Beer…drunk…Bart smirked weakly. Yes, that's what he needed; whiskey. He just needed to get good and steaming drunk, have a hangover, drink some more and be happy. That would let him escape his worries for a few hours, if any. So he watched the clock with anxiety.

Because he stared at the clock most of the time, he failed to notice a certain coated man standing across the street. His hair was hidden under a hat because if it hadn't been, it would have been a dead on of who he was. He simply stood there with his big feet, staring at the young lad.

Finally, the clock reached ten at night. Bart threw his hat down, slid a bottle of whiskey in his pocket, and left. His boss said something about coming in on the next day, not tomorrow. He'd have the day off to get drunk; perfect!

It took only a few minutes to reach his house. With one hand holding the alcohol, he opened the door and shut it. There were no locks on it, which was one thing he's been meaning to do. He turned the T.V. on so he had some light in this dark house, fixed a small dinner, and sat down. The chair he sat on was a recliner, meaning he was leaning back with comfort as he ate. He sipped the burning liquid every now and then.

Was his family happy? He often wondered that even when he tried not to. His thoughts of how they were slipped by his mental defenses. Maggie obviously cared for him, and how could she not? She was the innocent young sibling who was supposed to love her brother. Lisa however, especially after years of torture, probably couldn't care less. Marge must be worried whether she showed it or not. Homer…psh, he just cared about beer.

As Bart finished off the whiskey, feeling fog cover his mind, he wondered if he was turning out like his father. Then he passed out, lying on the chair, the bottle now shattered on the ground next to him. All this while, Sideshow Bob was at the window, watching.

* * *

Next chapter: Sideshow Bob sneaks into the house to 'kill' the passed out Bart. Review please.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to Swissmarie and Yami-Kjata for reviewing. Expected more, but eh. Anyway lol**

* * *

To be drunk and passed out was probably heaven for, well, anyone who wished to do such a thing. It is said by some that when you're drunk, you don't dream. Well, if you do dream, you certainly don't remember anything. Just like the moments when you're awake and intoxicated, it's all a blur. Sometimes it's a painful blur of emotions or, if you're lucky, a comical blur of events.

For Bart, his night of swallowing that vile burning gold liquid, he spent the rest of his 'rest' was nothing. He dreamt nothing, no colors or people or voices. Actually…no…this author takes that back. Although he was sleeping heavily, passed out in a sense, he heard a voice. It was a low murmur, as though its owner was talking to himself…or whispering to Bart.

However, let's get out of Bart's mind.

A man wearing a dark trench coat stood outside the living room window. His hat which had held down his hair for so long had blown away from the unsympathetic blowing wind. His hair was wild and long, sticking out like some sort of plant. His eyes, which were narrowed like bullets, stared through the glass and at the young man.

Never had he even assumed that Bart would follow in his father's footsteps. When he watched Homer Simpson, who somehow managed to grow a few inches thicker if at all possible, walk out of the store, he wondered what had just happened. Hadn't the man realized his son, his very own 17 year old son, was selling him beer? Hadn't he cared?

At being surprised at how he ignored his son, a passer by could only imagine the shock he felt when Bart reached for a whiskey bottle. Amazed at how he slid it into his pockets, which was stitched to a very raggy looking pair of jeans, he watched him walk. He just stole alcohol and, as soon as he had gotten home, started to drink it.

The door was unlocked; Bob knew this from hearing no padlock or dead bolt close. One would assume that after so many attempts on the young Simpson boy's life, he would be smart to at least have a chain lock. After all, he was living alone!

No lights came on through the whole house, which looked ready to collapse at the slightest sneeze. The only source of illumination was from the television, which gave off a sort of blue glow on the ratty furniture. Had he found that at the dumpster?

Half an hour later, the boy stepped out of the dark kitchen and sat on the recliner. He reclined it back, almost lying down. With a plate of food on his stomach, he slowly ate while taking drinks from whiskey. Did he honestly like that drink? Bob found himself quite curious about this. His taste in strong drinks leaned more towards wine, never beer or vodka…whiskey, just like vodka, was way too strong for him. Beer was too common for his taste buds, which obviously deserved something…rich in a sense.

He watched as Bart gulped down that crap. He waited patiently, wanting to bide his time. For the past few years, he had spent his time making up plans of how to kill the boy. He wanted something dramatic, for any lover of Shakespeare would like to be well-known for similar stuff.  
However, after spending a good four months on planning, he realized something. The most dramatic way, especially for Sideshow Bob, to kill Bart Simpson was to be as common as possible; stabbing the boy to death. Everyone would be stumped that this man, lover of theatre, Shakespeare, and tragedy destroyed his greatest enemy a simple way.

No, Bart was not worthy of being killed in a magnificent way. He did not deserve to be strung up by his toes, gutted relentlessly, and have his limbs chopped off until he died. He was not valuable enough to be shoved off a building. Yet, he was special enough not to be killed in a common way, per say getting shot.

Bob wanted to feel Bart's blood on him as he watched the boy gasp his last take of air. He wanted to feel the warmth, shiver as the cold air hit him from slipping through the poorly made window. He longed to see his long living enemy, his arch rival, die at his hands. He sought revenge!

Quiet as a church mouse, the man walked over to the door. The doorknob looked rusty and ready to fall off, as if it had suffered too much weathering. It's texture felt so…rough against Bob's smooth hands. Yes, despite common popular belief, he did not have calluses on his hands from working in jail. No one knew but…he used lotion more than for pleasure.

Surprising enough, the door did not creak like he thought it would. He put his rather large foot into the 'haunted looking house' carefully, weary. There could easily be an alarm system or some sort of trap for him, for intruders. If the boy was stupid enough to leave the door unlocked, surely he would set some sort of trap for his own safety!

Sadly, there was none. Did this young man even care for his own life?! Bob felt a pang of disappointment. What was the point of killing Bart if he wasn't scared?

That's when he realized something. If he killed the boy in his slumber…where was the vengeance? He wanted to look into Bart's fear filled eyes as he plunged the large knife into his chest. He wanted to watch him tear his hair out…

Something occurred to Bob;

Kidnap.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart wakes up; Bob's thoughts, etc. Surprise guest coming soon! Review please.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to Yami-Kjata, Beriipop, and Opaque Opal for reviewing! I know I'm not really adding a lot of talking right now b/c I'm mostly trying to see just how far my writing skills have advanced lately. However, the next chapter will -should- have more dialogue. **

**Opaque Opal; I was getting a bit worried since you haven't been on in ages. I hope you've had time to at least write your stories down or something (That's what I do when I'm grounded, then type them up at midnight XD). However, welcome back to the Internet World my fellow Sociopath…I mean, author! Lol. **

* * *

Nothing but blackness surrounded Bart. It swallowed him whole as he swallowed the burnt gold liquid called whiskey. Instead of panicking however, he enjoyed it. He _wanted _it to happen. He wanted that feeling of numbness and awareness, of being stuck in oblivion. He wanted an escape from reality, from his messy life.

As he floated in black nothingness, he couldn't help but hear a voice. It was smooth, sophisticated, and deep. It sounding somewhere between mumbling and whispering but for all Bart knew, the voice could be shouting and, in his drunken stupor, he would never notice. There was another voice that possessed the same smoothness and sophistication but…sounded a few tones shyer of deep. It was a light voice yet manly.

The sensation of ants crawling on him, simply crawling not biting, made him shiver. It felt like rocks pelted him. Then…he landed on a cloud. No, not a cloud…he landed on a rock. Then again, anything compared to his recliner chair could be considered a cloud.

He wondered if someone had carried him into bed. Who could it be though? Marge couldn't lift him, not since he was twelve. Lisa and Maggie were in the same category; weak. Homer…well although that man could lift anything if he really wanted to with his gorilla strength, he wouldn't…not for Bart at least.

The alcohol in his system was just that; still in his system. He thought he was back at his childhood home. In his hope to escape such a problem, he ended up thinking he was there, safe. Still, he was beginning to sober up enough to feel, hear, and sense things, even think! Now anytime for his eyes to open would be just great…

Time was nothing for him. He could have been passed out anywhere from five minutes to five hours! So when he managed to slowly open his eyes, he groaned in pure agony. The thing he lay on was softer than his chair but unlike his living room, a light was on just above him. Covering his eyes with a lightning fast movement, he sat up slowly.

There were two things he noticed immediately when he sat up; the first was that the walls were not wood, but stone meaning he was not at his 'home'; and second…he felt like puking. Oh how he longed to drink more alcohol! It would forestall his hanger over, the very thing he was suffering in right now.

Pushing that aside reluctantly, he moved onto his most pressing matter; where was he? How had he gotten there? As far as he knew, the house he had 'rented' had no basement, only an attic. And honestly, who in the world would make an attic out of stone…with a staircase leading upwards?

His limbs were as heavy as the rocks around him, making his movement snail like. When he managed to stand, he stumbled forward and fell, slamming his head into the side of the staircase. Even without looking around the lit up room, it was obvious that the bed was across the staircase, a small window a little to high above straight from the stairs. To his left, way across the room of the small window was what he guessed a bathroom.

Groaning at both of the new head injury and the loud noise said injury caused, he stood up and tried to keep his balance. The room was spinning, his vision blurry. Curse the whiskey! Maybe he should try and climb those stairs to get out of here…

No, he wouldn't even dare try. He'd rather sit there and wait for an explanation than climb up those…long…torturous…painful looking…dangerous stairs. Leaning against the side of the staircase, he cried out softly and held his head between his hands.

Suddenly the sound of a door opening came. He hissed and fell backwards, luckily landing on the bed. The descending footsteps on the stairs were like nuclear bombs to Bart. With his eyes screwed shut tightly, he winced at each and every sound.

What in the world could be making such unholy noise? No…not what, but rather who. Once he was sure the owner of the footfalls had ceased walking, he tentatively opened one eye. His mouth dropped, both his eyes widening.

"Sideshow Bob!" He shouted despite his own headache.

* * *

Next chapter: Bob gives a rather…frightening speech of why he's here; Bart tries to escape, surprise guest coming soon! Review please.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to Maria, Yami-Kjata, ****Sacharissa Lupin****, and ****Telling Stearson****. Good try at the guess, T.S., but sadly it's not Milhouse lol. And OMFG, you have NO idea how badly I wanted to write some yaoi hints in this, hints of romance…but it's too early in the story lol. I tried to make Bob's speech…well, Bob like so let's see what happens. TELL ME IF YOU THINK I PUT BOB INTO CHARACTER PLEASE! **

* * *

"Sideshow Bob!" Bart's voice which had deepened through the years of annoying puberty suddenly sounded young again. For a split second, Bart seemed to be ten years old and Bob…well, he looked a few years younger. It was an eerie chilling effect.

Inhaling air piercingly made Bart's head swim and his vision become very dim. Already on the bed, he glared at the man as best as he could. To be honest, he wasn't _that _surprised. Shocked and stunned, of course, but not too surprised. While he was drowning his poor self in that we call whiskey, his subconscious mind was preparing for this. It was only a matter of time that he would be taken or killed by Sideshow Bob. Of course he usually thought 'killed' instead of 'taken' but he was alive for now and was not complaining.

"Bart Simpson…" Despite his appearance growing slightly older, his voice hadn't aged a day. It was still the silk like fabric of sophistication and of hatred. "…I almost forgot about you, to be quite honest. And just as soon as I plan on extracting revenge on one of my oldest enemies…you stop me again! I do not know how you do it but it doesn't matter; here we are."

"Where is 'here'?" Bart questioned, feeling the veins in his head pound with each word. It was amazing how the man's voice before him was soothing instead of painful. It was ironic too, Bart's subconscious figured, because you would naturally assume Bob wanted to cause pain so he might try to speak loudly instead of…hushed.

As if playing a host at a party, he threw his arms to his side dramatically, announcing, "Why, we're in a basement in one of the many homes I own. You weren't expecting a hotel, were you?"

Bart sneered, "Careful where you sarcasm drips; I might slip on it." This insult was made out of fear and a hangover, which Bart regretted seconds later. The back of his hand slammed into Bart's cheek, sending him onto the bed completely. Quick as that lightning motion that caused a stinging sharp unpleasant sensation, he sat up again and fought the tears in his eyes.

"Have nothing to say, do you?" Bob questioned after a minute of silence. There was certain lightness to his tone, a certain…taunting? No, it was more like mocking. "The great Bart Simpson, brave to all dangers and King of all Pranks, silent?! Well, go on! Tell me something! Pull a cliché line from a movie about how I'll never get away with this! Exclaim in some sort of strong emotion that you foiled me once and you'll do it again. Say that someone will notice you're missing.

"Oh that's right…you would be lying if you said that. Your family doesn't keep in contact with you, your boss gave you the day off, your school has the next few days off because of some silly holiday…and the press would easily assume you're hiding from them. Tell me Bart, _are _you tired of being the 'hero' once more?

"Or can you even escape this time? Can you stop me from what I'm hoping to do to you, you filthy urchin? Or has the ability to defy my plans gone away as you're become a man?"

Bob's eyes twinkled with a sadistic humor as he went in for the landing. "And oh, what a man indeed!" Mock was the only thing in Bob's voice. "A man who is growing, progressing further into his father's footsteps!"

This caught Bart's attention, making him speak impulsively like always, "I am not following my father's footsteps!" Another hit across the face except it was the other cheek this time. Bart could feel the stinging sensation; he could feel the small discomfort turn into something large. The reminder of his hangover was put in front of his mind. He wouldn't touch his pink, probably red, cheeks. He refused to give Bob that satisfaction.

Bob's voice held a hint of insanity and seriousness in it, which was something rarely heard. Not many people, male or female, young or old, could speak with barely a hairline of sanity left and be serious at the same time. Then again, Bob was special at times.

"I've studied you these past few days, Bart. Oh yes, I've been watching every move you make, every flicker of your eye darting back and forth as you walk home. I've witnessed every sneeze and every shiver. I've seen every half hearted throw away conversations you have had with the press or with your fellow classmates, just to shove them away.

"You can only imagine just how astounded I was when I saw you working at that store. When I saw your father walk out and nearly fall over in the parking lot, I knew then and there that you were considered a stranger to him, a disowned child. I can't help but wonder, Bart, what you did to deserve such an act of ignorance. Or was it the other way around? Was it _they _who did something to _you_?

"My astonishment was off the scale when I saw you hours later steal something from the store you work at. At first I thought it was a soda and wondered just how poorly you have managed your money. I've caught a glimpse at the house you live in; did you buy it? Rent it? Just moved into the abandoned place?

"I was even more flabbergasted when you went home and placed a bottle of whiskey before you. When you finished fixing a rather lousy excuse for dinner and sat there in front of the T.V., slurping down that poison like it was bliss, I just watched. That scene had been so familiar to me; a young man laying on a recliner, eating, watching a cracked television like it was some sort of god, and drowning his worries and fears like a fish.

"Then it hit me…" at the word 'hit', Bart flinched, "you were like your father! The only difference was that you did not drink beer, that disgusting cheap justification of fermentation. Oh but believe me, you were following Homer's footsteps. Oh? You flinch when I say his name. Why is that?"

When you just sit there and stare at someone making a rather lengthy speech, you can only listen. Your thoughts swarm around in your head like angry bees, wanting to escape through your mouth by using your tongue. Yet, you cannot…you don't find the ability to speak. And when the person before you finally takes a much needed take of breath, you just can't remember what you had been thinking through the whole thing.

"…Why am I here?" His voice was gruff and scratchy for several reasons. His eyelids started to feel heavy but, and this was very bittersweet, he kept awake from the numbing hurtful feeling on his face.

Bob's eyes narrowed with suppressed rage. "Must you have a reason? Do you even deserve a reason of why you're presence is here? This is probably the most exciting event in your soon-ending-life. And too, tell me this Bart; if you destroy my attempts to kill my enemies for no reason, why should I give you a valid reason of you staying here?"

"Because you…" Bart started to raise his voice but hesitated, the faint pain on his face reminding him to watch his sharp tongue. "…Because killing is wrong."

Bob let out a sickening chuckle. "Then I don't want to be right. Now come Bart, has that alcohol really ruined your pretty little brain cells? Surely you know or can at least guess why you're here."

Was this some sort of trick? Was this man, this ex clown, really asking a serious question? Bart's head was too cloud like to figure out what emotion stained Bob's tone. He was clueless. Would he get slapped for answering? Or get slapped for not answering?

"Because I stopped you from killing Krusty?" He whispered softly, partly from fear and partly from illness.

Bob's lips curled upwards into a smirk. "Correct." He stood up straight which made Bart wonder when he had began to lean forward. "I'll be quite blunt with you, Simpson; I'm sick of you. I'm sick of you trying to foil my every plan! I've spent a good portion of my life in jail because of you! Now…now I will get my revenge.

"I'll admit that at first, I wished to stab you to death. Something very uncommon for me. However…I changed my mind. I want you to suffer like I suffered. I took you from your…precious home…and I'll torture you until you either kill yourself or die. No…no, I take that back. I'll torture you until you die. I will not allow you the luxury of escaping the pain by your own hand."

Bart moved back slightly, listening to the man's demonic laugh. He walked up the stairs but Bart felt no pain from the racket; he only felt fear. There was a cold awareness in his chest that he might not be able to leave here alive.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart tries to escape, surprise guest coming soon! The guest will appear probably in the next chapter or two. Review please.


	9. Chapter 9

**First off, I would like to challenge anyone who thinks they can write a good Bob/Bart one-shot OR story. Personally, I won't start a story unless I know one or two people will read/review it. So if I see new Bob/Bart stories, I promise to read and review and I'm sure others will too! XD Just wanted to see what will happen since I did this.**

**Thanks so very much to Yami-Kjata and Alishak626 for reviewing. I'm glad you think that I got Bob into character; I had been worried about that. Let's see if I can hit the nail on the head again!**

**(Btw; I in no way encourage my readers to drink. Drinking to solve your problems is really stupid in my opinion, however it happens so I went with that to make this story…well, a fanfiction.)**

* * *

The fear he felt inside his heart was like a trickle of sweat slowly sliding down his face. It was the type of fear that slowly spread through his circulatory system, causing his limbs to go numb or even shake slightly. The reasonable side of his brain insisted that he needed to stay calm and not panic, for if he did he would only be giving Bob what he wanted.

However, thanks to the activities of last night, when he swallowed down his nervousness he became painfully aware of his stomach. It was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to sprint into the small bathroom without slamming into anything. He fell to his knees and threw up his dinner from last night. Part of him wished there were some alcohol to get rid of this damnable hangover!

Several minutes passed and he finally believed he got the last trace of poison out of his body. Standing up with legs like a newborn lamb, he stumbled to the sink. Looking in the mirror, he gaped; he looked horrible! As much as he could, he washed his mouth and hair along with his face. He slicked his hair back, got rid of those nasty 'sleepies' from his eyes, and spat in the sink.

When he made his way over to that lumpy bed, he lay on it and tried to think of a plan. He was feeling slightly better but now hunger was gnawing relentlessly at him, which disrupted his thoughts and planning. Every time he would begin to think of some great plan, the thought of food destroyed it. He wanted some toast or weak soup; he knew from experience that his stomach couldn't handle a buffet after a hangover.

Every time he would think of food, he would lose his train of thought and plan. He would have to start over again, unsure if the plan he just started to think of was the one he thought of earlier. It was confusing, no doubt, to wonder if it was what you thought of before an interruption.

The time he spent laying on that bed pathetically trying to think of a plan was unknown. His head was still pounding but not as bad as he had woke up. His eyes were closed, which was a huge relief from that annoying light up above. Perhaps if he could turn it off, he could try to escape once Bob came down here again. Yes, that sounded good. But where was the switch?

Yes, that was probably his best bet. If he could manage to turn the light off, shove Bob out of the way, and sprint up the stairs, he would make it. He opened his eyes to glance around the room. Mentally, he mapped every twist and turn, which wasn't many, of the thing. Shutting his eyes once more, he tried to imagine his way out of this place.

Suddenly the door opened. Bart knew that instant that his planning, or lack of it, would not get him out; he would have to free style. His eyes opened and he sat up, looking at the staircase only a few feet before him. Sideshow Bob's big feet walked down it. Bart's eyes scanned for a switch or a string attached to the light…and found nothing.

For now, he would just have to listen and play along. But wait! What if the torture started right now?! Bart gulped and, thankfully this didn't make him need to vomit again, sat up straight.

"Good evening, Bart." How many hours had passed? Bob spoke again as he stood before the young man. "Still suffering from your hangover?" There was something about the way he said 'suffering' that sent a chill through Bart's body.

The young Simpson answered, "I'm getting better." It was short, clipped, and forced. What more could he say though? After all, the sadistic bastard in front of him did not care for his health at all. No wait, he did care…he cared if it was failing because he wanted to see Bart in pain.

"That's good news." He spoke sarcastically. "I see you've tried to fix your hair. You _do_ realize there's a shower in that bathroom, don't you?"

Blushing from the last part, for he had not seen the tub earlier, he snapped, "I didn't want my hair to get like yours." Immediately he regretted saying it. The sting in his cheeks had gone away but was replaced by a dull ache.

"My hair?" The man's tone was light, playing along, "What in the world could possibly be wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing…" Bart said through gritted teeth, longing to list off the real reasons.

Bob leaned forward quite suddenly, making the young man scoot back. "It must be something if you said it, Bart." His voice was a low roar, a gentle growl. It made Bart want to turn away, to hide. "You look as though you haven't had any sleep." The bags under his eyes, he was talking about.

Suddenly, quite on impulse, Bart shoved the older male away. Clearly not prepared for that unexpected move, he slammed into the staircase and fell onto his bottom. As quick and sturdy from any half drunk person could, he sprinted to the beginning of the staircase. As he jogged up them, he heard the groans of warning and creaks of weight that made him wonder if it would support him. He shuddered at the imagery of falling through said steps.

The door was getting closer to his view, closer to escape! The idea of freedom made Bart run up those stairs only faster. He felt his body lean backwards for a second and for that split second, he felt a trace of panic; he certainly didn't want to fall to his death! Arms flinging wildly, he managed to grab a hold of the railing.

However, this was when he noticed, as he clung onto that piece of wood for dear life, that he wasn't falling backwards; someone was trying to drag him down. It took a moment for him to actually feel something cling onto his limbs. He felt fingers, long slender fingers, wrap around his ankle in an iron vice. The palm that belonged to the fingers was on and off of his skin, for it was trying to pull the young lad down by shaking him. To shake a drunk; lovely tactic.

Bart's grip on the railing failed, forcing him on his stomach. Bob, who had been lying on the steps as well, started to pull him closer. The rough wood of the steps scratched his stomach, leaving angry red marks and perhaps even some cuts. He felt himself get taken down slowly, watching the door, the very symbol of freedom, grow smaller and smaller in his view.

Determination set in.

He kicked blindly behind him, hoping to escape. When he heard a crack and a groan, and when he felt his foot be set free, he ran up the stairs again. The door was unlocked so he threw it open. The cold air hit him. It was fresh air, much better than the musky stale air in the basement. When he stepped foot on the ground floor, he winced at the light. It was dark outside, he saw from the window, but he had the lights on.

As soon as he took a step outside of the prison like cell, he felt arms around him. They did not come from behind, so that meant Bob was still suffering from whatever cracked and was still on the stairs. In fact, Bart heard the older man's footsteps come up, closer.

The person who grabbed him was before him, someone strong. The mysterious stranger struggled with the frantic teenager but eventually managed to shove him onto the table. Bart cried out at the feeling of his head bouncing off the hard wood. His eyes blurred but a moment later, he managed to look up at his captor. A scream left his lips as he stared up surprise.

It was…

* * *

Next chapter: Who caught Bart?! Well, duh, the surprise guest lol. So who's the guest? And what will Bob do to Bart now? Review please.


	10. Chapter 10

**At long last, I can finally say who the surprise guest is! I'm shocked that no one guessed it, although Snake was a good guess lol. **

**Thanks so very much to beriipop and Swisssmariefor reviewing.**

_

* * *

_

It was…

Cecil Terwilliger!

Bart let out another horrified shriek, his head pounding even more because of it. Now on the table, he instinctively grabbed the wrists of the man. His fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the slab of wood. Bart's nails sunk into Cecil's skin, making him hiss lowly in annoyance and perhaps some discomfort.

Cecil's face showed great irritation with his teeth bearing as he growled. He really didn't look at different besides the fact that his hair was an inch or two longer, still copying his brother. Never in the young Simpson's life would he have expected such a thing! Then again, that time when Bob had 'died' the whole family had been involved…but still, he didn't expect it again.

Bart was in mid motion of swinging his legs around off the table, in hopes of kicking Cecil and trying to run once again, but his plan failed as quickly as it was invented. Someone had grabbed his ankles in a vice like grip and pinned them to the table as well. Despite his struggling, he found himself to grow only weaker and still unable to move.

Finally, he stopped and looked up. His breathing was ragged, forcing him to pant like a dog that just chased a cat. When he looked down at who had grabbed his ankles, he gasped despite the lack of air in his lungs. It was no other than Sideshow Bob. His nose was angled very oddly and a dark crimson colored liquid, some dry and some still wet, all under his nose. It was easy to guess that Bart had broke his nose, hence the crack when he had kicked.

Bob's face was twisted with fury. His eyes were narrowed into slits and they looked like they could glow red if it were possible. His mouth was in form of a snarl, a dangerous growl escaping his throat. His grip on Bart's ankles could easily break his bones if he twisted the wrong way in a sharp manner.

It was very easy to see Bart was terrified, not to mention the fear in his eyes that made his heart pound. Adrenaline swam through his blood stream, heightening all of his senses. His breathing was quickened until his whole immobile body trembled.

Bob used the back of his hand to wipe off the flowing blood and then wiped it on Bart's jeans. He growled at the young man but then looked at his sibling. There was a certain air of politeness between them and Bart couldn't tell if it was mocking, forced, or real. "Very good catch, Cecil." Bob commented lightly as though they were having tea.

The short haired man smiled, "Thank you very much, Bob. I can see what you mean by he's quite a handful." Both Terwilliger's looked back down at the Simpson, who was trying desperately to move. His nails were still in Cecil's wrist, his eyes on both of them. He glanced down only for a second when he felt a warm liquid flow down on his arms; blood.

"It looks like we've scared him into shock." Bob chuckled dryly, "He's lost all powers of speech!"

"Let go!" Bart suddenly shouted with the cry that had been stuck in his throat finally came out. It was ironic that he decided to speak at the precise moment Bob declared him speechless.

Without communicating in anyway, Bob and Cecil switched positions. Now Bob had Bart's hands above his head while Cecil calmly held onto the boy's ankles. The grip on his ankles wasn't as harsh as before but the skin throbbed and was probably swollen now. His wrists, thanks to Bob's clutching again, were starting to lose blood circulation.

With his free hand, Bob backhanded Bart again. Seeing stars for a split second, he let his head turn away, his face away from his abuser. His head felt like a sledgehammer was hitting him repeatedly and he started to feel his stomach churn. Was it with fear or sickness?

What would they do now?

Taking advantage of his ear being so close, Bob leant forward and whispered, "I try to be a good host and yet you insist on making my life a living hell, despite the fact that you're my prisoner! Just for that stunt…" He sat up and tried in vain to wipe off the dry blood on his mouth. He looked like a savage like that.  
Cecil stepped back and watched as his brother grabbed Bart by his hair. Ignoring the young man's grimaces and groans, he threw him down the stairs. Several crashes could be heard as his body, which felt like jelly after that scare, plummet down the stairs. Yelps, groans, and cries of unexpected pain followed. They echoed all the way up to the kitchen where the older two men stood.

When the door was shut, Bart could hear the tumble of the locks diminishing his chance for freedom. The earlier feelings of his stomach twisting came back to haunt him with a vengeance. With his battered body unable to stand, still recovering from the shock of what just happened, he couldn't run to the bathroom. He threw up again and dry heaved until he felt light headed.

Was this what Hell was like?

A good chunk of time passed as he laid there, his forehead resting against the cool stone of the wall. Finally, he sat up. A wave of dizziness passed him but disappeared. When he stood, he managed to slowly walk to the bathroom, while leaning against the wall all the way over there.

The sink is where his hands landed, holding onto it for dear life. Looking in the mirror, he gasped softly. Despite the line of drool on his chin, both his cheeks were a dark blue; one was pink because of the recent hit. His hair, just like the rest of him, was covered in dirt and scratches from the stairs.

A shower…he needed a shower…  
He took off his clothes and placed them on the bed just a yard away. Closing the door half way, he turned the water on. It came out brown but, with a few minutes of patience, became crystal clear. Careful as can be, he stepped in and groaned as the warm pleasant water hit him, washing away the blood.

Sad to say, he didn't realize one of the Terwilligers was coming down.

* * *

Next chapter: What will happen in the shower? A hint of sexy yaoi. Review please.

Btw: What do you think of the idea of Cecil/Bart or Bob/Bart or a triangle? XD or should it just be Bob/Bart?


	11. Chapter 11

**WOW! I got 6 reviews for the last chapter! That's the most yet! Wow! Lol. **

**Thanks so very much to beriipop, Wuup, BeckyHerself, Yami-Kjata, Gianna, & ****Sacharissa Lupin**** for reviewing. **

**Since I like Cecil (not as much as I love Bob) I decided to throw in a few moments of Cecil/Bart but overall will be Bob/Bart. Hmm…I just thought of something else…read onto Bart's thoughts to see my own, hint hint. **

* * *

The water was warm. The droplets pelted Bart softly thanks to the low water pressure. He let a soft moan of pleasure, the first scrap of pleasure all day, slip out. It was relaxing, he thought as his muscles turned to mush. It was comforting, something he knew he wouldn't find much of here.

His hangover was slowly dying away.

Letting his chin fall onto his chest, he stared at his nude body. His skin was starting ever so slightly to become a light blue, hinting swelling and bruises soon. It was probably because of the stairs. He didn't even want to look at his wrists and ankles! Instead, he watched the water waste went down the sink. It cleansed him physically but emotionally, he felt filthy and horrible. The red water vanished through the dark hole in the tub. It soon became a light pink, signaling Bart that most of the blood (when did he start to bleed?) was going away. All traces of his illness were gone too.

Oh if only he could escape through that drain! That small little black hole led somewhere out of this house, out of this hell. He honestly wished he could just shrink and go with the water. Sighing, he shook his head and started to rub his temples.

Should he fear Cecil? Or should he fear Bob more? Or both of them equally? He remembered when Lisa and himself stalked Bob who claimed he had changed. As much as it pained Bart to admit, he had been wrong; Bob had changed. It was his brother, who looked a bit like him and who had been the boss of the dam constructing, who wanted to steal and kill. He had actually threatened Bob, Bart, and Lisa with a gun! Bob had never done that…but now he wanted to torture the young Simpson boy. So confusing!

Could he really expect some kindness from one of the brothers? Well it was obvious that Bob was out of the question; he was the one who kidnapped him, wanted to torture him, and wanted him dead. Cecil really had no grudge against him, not a huge one at least. After all, Bart didn't receive blood letters from the ex-construction boss saying he wanted the boy dead.

Could Cecil maybe help him?

The only reason why he had pulled out a gun was because of money. From what Bart knew, there was no promise of money. It was merely a brother helping out a brother. Perhaps he could try and drive the two apart! How though? All thoughts of his prankish youth disappeared.

As he debated about this in his mind, letting the water hit him gently, he failed to hear the stairs creak. The Terwilliger siblings had spent a good few minutes upstairs discussing what to do. Cecil wanted to get it all over with and leave, hide the body and start anew. Bob, of course, wanted to torture the offspring of Homer Simpson and then move.

Cecil finally got Bob so frustrated that the man stepped out of the house for a bit. Taking pity over the youth, he fixed some soup and dry toast with water. He opened the door, checking to make sure the boy was not hiding or planning to run away. As he slowly took some hesitant steps down the stairs, his eyes landed on the evidence of illness in front of him.

Shaking his head, unsure of what to do about that, he stepped over it. When he got to the bed, half expecting to see Bart licking his wounds figuratively, he was startled. It was empty with a few pieces of clothes on it. Glancing under the staircase, happy to see no body hiding there, he placed the food on the bed. It was then when he heard the soft moan.

Stepping closer to the ajar door, he heard the water running. What was that moan about? For whatever reason that caused Bart to utter such a sound, Cecil felt his spine shiver. Biting his lip, he looked through the door.

How could Bart not realize it was open? Or better yet, how could he have failed to hear Cecil's footfalls? It was ironic that Bob, the one with the big feet, could walk silently and still look graceful while Cecil…well, he was loud.

His eyes bulged out of their sockets at the site before him. Although there was a shower curtain between Bart Simpson and Cecil Terwilliger, it was very thin and very…see-through. The boy was thin and gangly from the past month of barely eating and drinking constantly. Black and blue covered his smooth skin and even a thin sheet of plastic couldn't hide it. His ribs showed a little but that wasn't what caught his attention; the young man had very impressive…

The water stopped abruptly.

It took a moment for the older gentleman to realize what had just happened When he took in the situation, he blinked at last. Cecil almost threw himself out of the room and quickly jogged up the stairs, wincing at each groan and creak it made. However, the young lad took no notice. As he dried himself off and walked into the other room, he looked over at the food in confusion. Who had put that there? After he got dressed, he wondered if it was poisoned.

What with his hangover gone and his appetite back, he didn't care; he ate it anyway.

* * *

Next chapter: We see a bit of all three of their thoughts. Then Bob "tortures" Bart. Review please.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks so very much to Penelope2000, Yami-Kjata, Anyminutenow, & ****alishak626**** reviewing. I'm aware that this is…sick towards the middle so beware. **

* * *

The food was overall pretty good. Of course it wasn't food from a five star restaurant, which Bart never really ate at, but it was good. The toast was slightly damp from the soup and the soup was cold from waiting so long. Not to mention the soup wasn't his favorite flavor. Then again, he doubted they would try to please him.

Still, he ate it lightning fast. It probably wasn't the best idea for right after he felt slightly ill. All thoughts of it being poisoned rushed back but, after feeling the cold skin rising sensation of relief, he realized that his stomach was still upset. The shower had taken control and let the hangover go away…well, most of it.

He glanced at the end of the staircase, unsure of how to clean it up. He didn't want Bob to come down while it was there. For some 'odd reason' he had the vivid image of his face being smashed into it while Bob cackled like a witch. The very idea made his stomach churn.  
Placing the tray on the ground next to the bed, he walked into the bathroom. Taking the towel he had used to dry off which, he tried to clean up the evidence of sickness as much as he could. When he finished, he fell in front of the toilet and lost what little food he had inhaled moments ago.

Although his head didn't hurt, which was a plus, his heart did. Worry, fear, and panic filled him. What would happen when Bob came back down? What would he do precisely as punishment for his attempted escape?

Who had brought the food anyway?

* * *

Cecil was upstairs, pacing in the small room which was pathetically called a living room. A worried growl left his throat and his lips were twisted into a frown, his eyebrows knitted together. He was worried; why had he reacted like that?

He had brought the weak food for the prisoner because he pitied the boy. He knew what it felt like to have a hangover and after that scare, not to mention that tumble down the stairs, he felt the need to give him something. Cecil wasn't entirely heartless like his brother was at times of rage; despite him pulling that gun on the two Simpsons and his own blood at the dam, he was a nice guy. Anyway, that gun was full of bebes; nothing to be scared of or die of!

When he had heard the soft moan that came from the bathroom…that was what worried him. His attention and curiosity shot up immediately, which was normal enough for anyone. However, it wasn't normal for him to feel something stir within him. It wasn't normal for him to stare and study the body under the warm water. And it definitely was not normal for him to want to hear more.

He was teamed up with a man who wanted to destroy the boy inside out. He would have to watch him be tortured, tormented, and killed. He would even have to help a little. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't fall for the young man; love was such a stupid emotion. However…lust was another story.

For the past several years, he knew he was bisexual. So perhaps…he'd convince his brother to let him spend time alone with the Simpson before he died. Yes…that sounded like a plan. All in the name of torture.

* * *

Bob was in the upstairs room he had dubbed his when they moved in.

He was sitting on the bed and staring out the window. What to do first? What not to do first? All his screams would be muffled by the stone around them but they would echo, leaving Bob in great sadistic pleasure.

To watch the boy shiver and shrink at the sound of his footsteps was a very pleasant thought. To hear him beg for mercy and try to kill himself just to escape from Bob…he shuddered. He couldn't wait!

* * *

Next chapter: Okay, change of plans. As I wrote the word 'sadistic' I thought about what it really meat. So Bob will make Bart squirm— by talking about what he plans to do. Sadly, Bart feels an unexpected effect besides fear. Review please.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to Yami-Kjata. Did everyone fall off a cliff or something? XD I was shocked to see I had only one review…Oh well lol.**

* * *

Bart was sitting on the bed, thinking deeply about the past, the present, and most important, the future. After losing his food twice within the same hour, he felt physically drained and exhausted. His throat ached and burned so bad that he ended up drinking water from the sink.

Huge mistake.

Not even five agonizing minutes later, he threw up with little he had left and just kneeled on the floor, dry heaving. His head had spun for several long moments that seemed to stretch out for hours but, thankfully, it went away. Now his stomach was upset, his throat burned, and his vision was blurry.

More than anything right now in this hopeless situation, he just wanted to sleep. To sleep a week sounded like heaven at the moment. Trying to brighten this dark situation up, he thought about the positive. At least here he had a real bed; he didn't sleep on that recliner chair. He had started to leave an indention in it, which was a really bad sign. Here…okay, so the bed felt like a rock with sheets over it, but at least he had sheets!

Even as he lay there, his body drained and wanting nothing more than to rest, his mind wouldn't let him. His eyelids drooped down, letting him at least shut out that annoying light. What with trying to escape and being sick, he hadn't the chance to look if there was some sort of switch; he sure as hell wasn't about to get up and look either. His body was sore from the harsh shove downhill but he distracted himself by daydreaming.

What would happen if he escaped? Would it be any different than before? Did he really want to escape? At least in here, he knew two people were near by. Back at his 'home' he was alone and struggling with school and a job. It was weird to think he would be better off with Bob and Cecil than alone…if only they forgot about the torturing part…and the killing part.

For the Hell of it, let's say he escaped. What exactly would he do? Did anyone realize he was missing? This brought up another very important question; how many days had passed? He thought it was only one, which would make right now his 'day off'. However, he lost track of time and his 'built in clock' that everyone has had a screw loose.

He would probably go back to school, go back to work, alone. He might report what had happened but no one would care. They would have moved onto the 'next big thing'. Anyway, why would they care now when they didn't when he was younger?

Maggie...surely she missed him! Surely she realized he was missing! But what would a little girl do? Even if she filed a Missing Persons Report, they wouldn't know where to search. Plus, if the brothers got wind of it, they might kill him faster.

The door suddenly opened.

However, Bart was too lost in his own thoughts to hear it. He was thinking of a way to escape. His arm rested over his eyes, his body laid out on the bed. His breathing was calm but obviously showing that he wasn't asleep, despite as much as he wished to be.

Bob stood at the edge of the bed, staring down with evil eyes. His eyes sparkled and a cruel smile twisted its way onto his face. Something inside him though relented. Something in his heart softened when he saw the young man laying there. Quickly though, he pushed any second thoughts out of his mind.

"If it isn't Bart Simpson…" His voice rang out suddenly, making said boy jump. When he tried to sit up, Bob pinned his limbs above his head. "Oh don't bother getting up on my account. Just lay back, relax, and listen…"

Despite his 'kind' advice, Bart tried to get away. He kicked and tried to push, far too weak from earlier. Bob grinned and simply watched him for a moment. It was pointless, they both knew. "Oh yes, I can just picture you tied up with chains…I'd drip candle wax on you just to see you squirm." He smirked. "I can only imagine your cries of pain when one of my many knives slice your skin. Oh but we wouldn't let you bleed…I'd have Cecil stop the bleeding. That's what he's here for, to 'heal' you.

"I can feel my knuckles start to ache just thinking of how I'll beat you to an inch away from Death." Bob whispered in his ear, making Bart freeze.

Suddenly Cecil called out, "Bob, we have a situation upstairs!"

Grumbling, the man glanced upwards and then stood, watching Bart act like a statue. "I'll be back…"

As he left, Bart felt his limbs tremble. His eyes were wide and his breathing quick. It wasn't what Bob said that scared him so much, it was the part of his body that was 'scared stiff'.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart's thoughts. Cecil's 'situation' upstairs. Cecil walks downstairs and sees Bart. Review please (Already said it was a Bob/Bart but like I said, there are going to be Cecil/Bart moments. I'm still working on how to make Bob go all "lovey dovey" over his hostage.)


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to Yami-Kjata, AnyMinuteNow, maria, Anon-Tina, & Sacharissa Lupin

**Thanks to Yami-Kjata, AnyMinuteNow, maria, Anon-Tina, & ****Sacharissa Lupin****. Although no one here is probably not interested in Kim Possible, I would greatly love, and probably dedicate a chapter, to those who read my one-shot "Her Child's Lullaby." Although it takes place in KP, the very idea of it is really good. It's mostly about this girl who was tricked into giving up something important plotting revenge and…just read please lol.**

**And to Anon-Tina, I thank you for your advise and I wouldn't consider telling you to 'piss off'. I'm glad I see some reviewers who think I should slowly make their hatred die a little. I'm trying as best as I can so let's hope for a miracle, eh? Lol.**

* * *

Had that just happened? Did that really just happen? Perhaps all this was just a bad dream. Yes, he would wake up either on the recliner at his 'home' or...yet he knew this was real. He felt the pain of following down the stairs, he felt the bruising grip from Sideshow Bob.

The man had just come down here and pinned him, sneering coldly. He whispered things that made Bart shiver, not with fear, but…with lust. He was silently grateful to whatever 'situation' came up. Then again, that wasn't the only thing that came up.

He hated the man, yes. He hated him even more now that he was kidnapped and injured. His passion of hatred was like the ocean! Bart tried to reason that he really did hate Bob, and he did. However, could he honestly control his bodily functions, especially when a guy came that close? He hadn't been with anyone, male or female, for the past few months. It would make perfect sense for him to loose control like that. His body reacted, not him.

Still, it was so…disturbing, to say the least, at how he reacted. He knew he liked the 'bad boys' because he and Nelson had (secretly) dated for four months. The idea of a good guy was….well, a turn off. Who knew that his body would react to a man who was at least twenty years his senior?! True that Nelson was two years older than him, nearly three years, but that was a huge difference.

Bart's head started to hurt. It started off with his temples pounding and now escalated into the back of his head pulsing. Groaning softly, he laid down and wished he could sleep.

Sorely tempted to ask for some sleeping pills, he wondered if they would really give him any. They might poison him…no, there was no way in the world that Bob would kill him off so swiftly. He said so himself! He couldn't ask for a glass of milk though because there might be some sort of stuff in it to make him wither in pain. His best bet was to daydream of freedom until he fell into a slumber.

…What was going on up there anyway?

* * *

"What in the world can be so impotant that you had to interrupt me, Cecil?!" Bob stepped up to the ground floor, closing and locking the basement door behind him. "Hm? I'm waiting! I was so close to making him squirm!" Anger was clear in his tone.

Cecil covered his mouth with a dish rag near by. Placing one finger on his lips to give the 'be quiet' signal, he pointed towards the living room. In a soft voice, he whispered, "The situation is that we have a guest!"

Taking the dishrag out of his mouth, faintly wondering if it was clean or dirty, he threw it at his brother's face. In the same hushed tone laced with venom, he questioned, "And who in the bloody hell could that be?!"

Giving a rather dull glare at the man he called a sibling, Cecil said, "Maggie Simpson."

Bob stared. Did he hear right? One of the Simpsons was here? What could she want? He had been so sure that none of Bart's family members cared for him. So what was the meaning of this? "Right…Where is she?"

"Living room. Come on." They both walked into the room, seeing Maggie ideally twirled a small container of pepper spray in her hands. When she looked up and saw them, she stood up on impulse. Fear and alarm flashed in her eyes but she looked calm and collected. It was clear that if she was straining herself to be strong and brave even though she probably felt terrified by being in the room with two men who wanted her family dead.

By the looks of her, she hadn't changed much. Despite her age, she still looked like a little girl who got lost. She was pretty and would be as beautiful as her older sister was smart when she grew older. Clenching onto the bottle, she spoke up with a wavering voice, "Good evening, Mr. Terwilliger…s."

"Good evening, Ms. Simpson." Bob's sly voice crept out. "How can we be of service to you?"

When he took a step forward, she took a step back and the back of her heels hit the couch. Right then and there, it was clear that she had come alone without anyone knowing. In her pocket was a shape of a pocketknife; she knew to be armed when she came to her first suspect's house. Smart girl…

"I haven't seen my brother at school in two days and I heard he skipped his job today. Pardon me for being suspicious but your history with my blood has been…unclear; have you seen him?" Her eyes narrowed slightly, relief on her face that he knew not to move closer.

The ex-clown smiled, shrugging. "I can see how you would automatically assume that, Ms. Simpson, and fear not, I do not hold a grudge against you for it. In my younger years I'll admit I was reckless and quite stupid to want to kill someone, especially someone as…sly as your brother. However, my own sibling and I are starting clean. Will that be all?"

"No. I wish to look around, if that's okay." She stated firmly.

Something in Bob's eyes twinkled, making her inhale sharply. He put on the most charming smile he could muster. "Your family doesn't know you're here, am I right? At the look of horror on your face, I assume I am. Don't worry, I told you my brother and I are innocent and attempting to stay that way. However…I'm curious, Ms. Simpson, why a young girl like yourself who, from what I've heard, is years ahead in wisdom…is so stupid as to sneak over here and ask to search an attempted murderer's home."

After processing this, she nodded, blushing. "Y-Yes…um…well, if that's all, thank you." She walked out of the door quickly, obviously shivering.

When Bob turned to speak to his brother, he was gone.

* * *

In the middle of the conversation, Cecil had slipped away. He walked into the basement, hearing Maggie's comment about searching the place. Knowing his brother would take care of it, he walked down the stairs. When he stepped on the ground, he saw Bart jump slightly in fear, obviously expecting Cecil's…better half.

The boy looked startled to see it was him instead of his tormentor. "…What do you want?" His voice was strained, tired even.

Cecil stood there. What had he wanted? Opening his mouth several times, he spoke up at last, "I was…just checking that you're still alive."

"Sadly." He muttered, turning away to try and sleep once more.

"Bart, I…" Cecil hesitated. Suddenly the door opened,

"What in the world are you doing?" It was Bob.

* * *

Next chapter: Bob teases Bart with the knowledge that his sister was here. Cecil watches & thinks. Review please


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the wait; I was busy planning my party and then had to celebrate my party. XD Birthdays on the 17****th**** but had the party on the 13****th****.**

**Thanks so much to Madam Pegasus, Anyminutenow, & ****Sacharissa Lupin**** for reviewing! Did everyone else get eaten or something? Lol.**

_

* * *

_

"What in the world are you doing?"

Bob's voice sounded tired and weary no doubt from their unexpected guest, but it also hinted annoyance and venom. It sounded so distant to Bart who lay on the hard mattress, considering he was upstairs and all, but Cecil looked up with hesitation coloring his face. "…I…was just checking that he wasn't at the door, listening. For all we know, Bob, he could have called out for the girl."

"What girl?" Bart's eyes opened, obviously surprised at the choice of words. "There was a girl here? Why was she here?" Desperation outlined his voice, desperate for help…for human contact that wasn't cruel and cold.

The stairs creaked quite loudly as Bob's rather large feet stepped down them. The only upside so far was not having a hangover, of Bart would have been in pain. "The girl…Yes, Cecil, you're right…he would have wanted to shout for the girl. I'm sure now he'll regret it once he realizes who she was."  
Sideshow Bob had always had that certain…air about him. He was able to tell a story of strolling down the park and managed to make it into an exciting tale just because of his voice and the way his tone shifted. His eyes were always half closed as he spoke so deep with meaning, making you unable to resist the need to stare into them.

"Well?!" Bart snapped, jumping slightly back when Bob's face came up at the side of his own. He hadn't expected such sudden physical contact and shivered, tempted beyond belief to grab his neck.  
"Your precious baby sister, of course; Maggie Simpson." His voice was in a low murmur, sending another shiver down the boys' spine. The young Simpson inhaled sharply which ended up in an audible gasp. His eyes widened in horror, regret, and sudden sadness.

Although several feet away, Cecil studied the boy with curiosity. How much it must have hurt to realize a family member, who seemed not to care for him mind you, to have been there searching for you…yet you never knew. For a moment, the man felt a great swell of pity and sighed softly, almost regretting what he was doing.

Should he be doing this? No. So why was he? Honestly, he didn't know. In truth, he had nothing else to do with his time and he had always slightly hated Bart for several reasons. Not only had he thwarted him in the dam business, but he had gotten his brother into jail quite a handful of times. Yes, he hated Bob slightly for stealing his position as Krusty's sidekick, but he was still blood!

Right now, he couldn't just quit and walk off. It would appear quite suspicious and, not to mention, it would entitle the suspicion of him going to the police. Bob would assume, and Bart might hope as well, that Cecil went to the police to tell. That would only cause trouble, true or not. Anyway, just because he left (if he ever did) that wouldn't stop the torture he knew the young man would be put there; it would not make him feel any better. At least being here meant he could try to help…the best he could at least.

"That's right Bart," Bob sounded like he was on one of those irritating after-school specials, "Your little sister…she seems to be the only Simpson who cares for you, doesn't she? Ah yes…brave little soul, foolish too. It would appear that she came here alone without anyone even knowing her whereabouts. Smart since she brought some pepper spray. However, she was naïve and foolish for believing me that I had changed…but is it her fault really? After all, she never knew me before…she has no idea how to pick up on a lie."

Mouth hanging open, Bart stared blankly at the space before him. He scooted back to allow his back to rest against the stone wall that felt damp and cold. His mind was reeling, his thoughts horribly depressing. Bob simply laughed at the young man but after seeing how stunned he was, he realized he wouldn't react…which of course, for a sadistic bastard such as Sideshow Bob, it was stupid and pointless to laugh. It was far from amusing.

Cecil and Bob started to walk upstairs while Bart tortured himself inwardly, cursing his stupidity. Maggie…actually cared. He let out a soft cry, slamming his head against the wall in regret.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart starts to think suicide briefly merely because he has no alcohol and because he misses his baby sister; when Bob sees him crying out for Maggie in his troubled sleep, he feels a soft spot in his heart. Review please!


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks so much to Madam Pegasus, Iriam-Flower & Anyminutenow for reviewing! I'd like to address Madam Pegasus's comment**_**; **__**It's also kinda weird how Maggie is the only one to care for Bart. One would figure Marge would after all that Bart and Homer have done throughout their lives…**_

**To be honest, there are only two reasonable explanations I could come up with is this; If Lisa didn't like Bart or care for him, or knew not to mention him at home, then she would not tell Marge that he skipped school. In fact, she would think it was normal. So Maggie, who care more than Lisa because she wasn't pranked on constantly, notices and goes out.**

**Second one, which is a weak one, is; if Marge were to suddenly disappear and go search for her son, then it would be noted by Homer who would cause hell later. If Maggie were to lie about going to the library and instead searching for her older blood, no one would be the wiser.**

**I hope that helped, Madam Pegasus.**

**Quick note; Can anyone just picture Bob/Bart singing or something to "Like A Virgin" in the **_**Moulin Rouge**_** movie?! It's so funny!**

* * *

The throbbing that his head was struck with felt very pleasant in an odd way. He had just slammed the back of his head against the wall in regret and self loathing; how couldn't he have known Maggie was there?! Why didn't he go and listen at the door? Cecil had proclaimed that there was a situation so why hadn't it clicked in his mind that that word translated to hope and help?

For a second, Bart wished that the self-inflicted wound to the head was bleeding internally. At least that way he would slowly die to death in a 'happy' mood. He'd die quickly for head injuries normally meant instant death…either that, or a coma. He shivered at the thought of being in a coma while in the hands of Sideshow Bob. The older man was bad enough as it was when he was alive, breathing…the mere thought of being at his mercy when he couldn't control his body and yet still lived…dreadful! Absolutely dreadful and terrifying!

That would be worse than being awake through the torture. Did people in coma feel and hear things? Did they feel any pain? Or were they just floating in an endless void? For if they did indeed feel pain and other sensations, he would rather kill himself now then end up like a zombie. Who knows what Bob would do!

His eyes darted to and fro the door and window. No escape…no way of leaving this…this…this…Hell on Earth! He gripped his head with both hands as though to squeeze his head into mush. The only way out of here was death and even then he'd be trapped physically! Frustration filled his veins, he felt his heart speed up and his breathing quicken, his stomach churned and twisted.

He needed whiskey or vodka!

His throat burned with dryness. He knew that even if he drank a gallon of that filthy water from the bathroom, he'd still feel like he was stranded in a desert. In a funny way, he was stranded in a desert—in an alcohol-free desert.

Bart longed for that expensive, body destroying, distasteful drink! He longed for that numb feeling that he needed so bad! He longed for that ability to not to be able to think; that was only given as a much welcomed side affect of the drink. Yet…yet he knew he would get none. If anything, Bob was enjoying his pain too much to give him anything!

His stomach growled at the ironic timing. He swallowed dryly, hoping to put out the fire in his throat. The idea of drinking the bathroom water was revolting but, as much as it sickened him to say, might be his only option. Trying to prolong that walk though, he felt the back of his head; there was a bump on it.

No doubt that if he was back at his home, the childhood home he grew up in, Marge would be fussing over him. She'd kiss his wound and run around as he lay in bed with comics, giving him whatever he wanted. He missed that…

What was Maggie doing right now?

Was she talking to Lisa while they watched _Itchy and Scratchy_ reruns? Was Homer sitting on the couch like he did always, his huge butt in the sinking imprint of so many years? Was a can of _Duff_ beer on his stomach as he watched the show? Was Marge fixing dinner, growling disapprovingly every time she burned something?

For that moment in that damp dark basement, he found himself missing his family. Laying down on the pathetic excuse of a bed, he let out a sound that was a mix of a sob and a growl. With the help of salty tears, he fell into a troubled slumber.

Roughly an hour later, Bob opened the door. He started to walk down the stairs with a smug smile on his face. Perhaps the boy would be more responsive now that time had passed by. Surely realization and shock passed and registered in his mind already! That would mean he would glare and snap at Bob…giving Bob the chance and privilege to hit the boy again. More than anything, he just wanted to leave a huge bruise on the boy both mentally and physically.

Earlier he and Cecil had gotten into a small argument. It was mostly about why they were doing this. Cecil insisted he was going after the past, after the young boy who took him down because he really was doing wrong things. Bob insisted that he was going after the current for the boy had purposely stopped him from killing Krusty…again. Wow, déjà vu.

When he reached the bottom step, he saw Bart laying there. Bob smirked evilly, planning several very unpleasant ways to wake the lad up. Just as he took a step forward though, he spoke in his sleep. "Maggie, wait! Don't…don't leave…" He sobbed quietly in his unsettling rest.

Bob blinked and stepped back. Something tugged at his heart and he looked away, a flash of guilt hitting him like lightning. Was he getting soft? Nonsense, he was just…pitying the boy. Right?

* * *

Next chapter: Bob comes to visit Bart with food and seems to be different than before; Bart's embarrassed after last time. When they start to talk, it gets loud all starting with 'my stopping you was an accident!' Review please!


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks so much to Madam Pegasus, Mary, Yami-Kjata, gae-ta, Spastic Spastic & Anyminutenow for reviewing! If I forgot anyone, forgive me! This took a while to write because I had started to watch all my old movies; Disney classics. **_**Pete's Dragon, Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, Mulan, Sword in the Stone, Aladdin**_**, and tons of other childish movies but I loved it! Lol. **

* * *

Was this all a dream?

Could this be a side effect of his ill-thinking?

Did his self-inflicted attempt-suicidal-wound cause this scenario?

Was Sideshow Bob _really_ bringing Bart Simpson food?!

To ensure the man didn't see Bart's hand, for he was still unsure if that man was real or dream made, he pinched his arm and winced. After all, he didn't want his captor to see himself causing pain by his own hand and mistake it for…well, whatever else! His eyes widened at the real sharp pain he felt, telling him that yes, he was awake and that yes, all of this was real.

The stairs creaked, like always, as his big clown feet walked down them. Bob placed a tray on the side of the bed that was not occupied by the young Simpson. It had toast, water, and a piece of fruit. Was it really morning already?!

"What's that?" Bart croaked, his throat as dry and rough as sandpaper.

The older man raised an eyebrow as though unable to quite believe what he had just heard. Speaking to him as he would with a simple child, he answered, "Why, it's food, Bart." It was more than tempting to tease the boy so he gave into the urge. "Surely you know what food is. It gives your body energy and strength…you put it in your mouth and chew. Then…"

"Why did _you _bring it to me?" Rightful suspicion laced his tone. Yes, since when did Sideshow Bob become nice and bring him anything besides torment, paranoia, and pain? Well, since he saw the young lad cry out for his sister, that was when. Of course he wouldn't let the boy know that!

"Why question a gift I give you? Aren't kids supposed to be greedy and taking whatever they want without giving second thought?" He countered, smirking at the boy as he watched his struggle.

Bart shot back, "I'm not a kid anymore though."

"No…" He whispered, his eyes slightly narrow as though studying the boy deeply, "No, you're not…not anymore." As if awakening from a sleepy mood or a dream, he grinned, "Aren't you going to eat?"

Bart was worried about if it was poisoned. Of course, what with him being a captive or a prisoner or whatever and the man who brought the food insisted on torturing him, he had the right to be suspicious. However, his stomach growled. His body took over his mind and he ate the small meal.

Bob simply stood there, watching the young man as though he was a precious rare species. For a moment, the Simpson actually did feel like he was an exotic animal and Bob was studying, taking notes down of his habitat and behavior. What a creepy thought!

When he was finished, Bart saw the man sit on the other side of the bed. He gulped down his fear. After what had happened last time, he sure as hell didn't want the man to be so…close! His mind, yes, he could control…it was his body that he feared would give him away.

What exactly was Bob thinking right now? No, forget that, what would he think if he saw Bart's body react in such an…impure, unsure, very wrong and sick way? Would he laugh? Use it against him? Run off in shock? Think he was a freak? Or all four things?

One thing was for sure; Bart didn't want to find out.

"It's been many years since we've seen each other…what is it, nearly seven or so? You must forgive my memory if it's wrong, I spend so many times thinking of ways to kill my…enemies, I sometime lose track of time." There was a sly grin on Bob, something eerily similar to a snakes.

A frown came across Bart's lips. "…Yeah, about seven years, maybe eight or six."

"And yet you managed to thwart my plan as if it were just yesterday, just like you were ten and me…well, you get the point. How odd it seems, doesn't it appear to be? After so many years of not seeing each other, you still have that annoying little habit for disappointing people.

Bob leaned closer, "The gift of destroying a villain and helping a 'good guy'. Tell me, how does it feel? I'd suggest it was in your blood since you do it so naturally, much to my displeasure, but then again, I doubt it. Your father ends up destroying everything he meets and eats while your mother can only clean, cook, and growl uselessly at her…husband."

There he was again, bringing up Bart's family. Although it didn't make Bart miss them immediately, he still felt offended. True, Homer ate everything he met and destroyed almost everyone he knew so he didn't care about the man. However, it was insulting his mother that got his eyes to narrow, his teeth to grind together. "What's your point?" He carefully chose his words; in other words 'fuck off Bob'.

Bob's eyes lot the amusing twinkle, his tone serious. "How did you stop me this time? Did you see the gun? Did you see me? Well?! Answer me!"

Bart felt something stir within him. "It was an accident."

"…What?" Bob's hand came across the Simpson's already blue and black cheek. "Tell the truth!"

"That is the truth you crazy freak!" Bart shouted suddenly, his voice and insult echoing in the small underground room. "I…I-I mean…that is to say…um…"

* * *

Next chapter: They fight more about the whole 'accident' and Bart looses his cool. Review please!


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks so much to Madam Pegasus, Anne, mimi, Guest, Yami-Kjata, gae-ta, Spastic Spastic & Anyminutenow for reviewing! Wow, 8 reviews in one chapter! That's the highest I've had so far in this story! Thanks you guys, really! **

_

* * *

_

Bart felt something stir within him. "It was an accident."

_"…What?" Bob's hand came across the Simpson's already blue and black cheek. "Tell the truth!"_

_"That is the truth you crazy freak!" Bart shouted suddenly, his voice an insult echoing in the small underground room. "I…I-I mean…that is to say…um…"_

Well, now was definitely the time for our favorite Simpson to think, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I'm so dead!" and not be the least bit overdramatic. Yes, now was the totally right time to physically want to run around in a circle in an attempt to escape this basement, despite there being no way to escape, screaming his head off as he flung his arms around wildly. However, fear froze his body, enabling such a comical yet pitiful act.

"Would you care to repeat yourself?" Bob's eyebrow rose so high that it almost disappeared into his hair. Although this was _probably _not the best time to notice little details, Bart realized that the man's hair looked a cross between dark blood and a burnt apple…did that even make sense?

What ever happened to the boy who would take any and all challenges? What happened to the King of Pranks, Master of Detention, Joker of Slyness? Back when he was a kid, he didn't take crap from anyone! When that new kid came and stole his glory, he used magnets on Skinner to get his fame back (despite the kid being a rat). He had even gone through a whole phase of the 'Dare Devil' stuff! So what happened to that kid?

He grew up, simple and plain. He realized the world wasn't just fun and games. He came to the dawning that times change no matter what you do to try and stop it. It's like trying to control the water; impossible to stop. It's impossible to make it stop raining, it's impossible to stop time.

Bart was now in a basement on a horrible excuse for a bed merely feet away from the man who tried to kill him and who he was strangely attracted to physically. Fear triumphed over bravery. Yet there was a small part of him, a small part of that little kid who at one time played so many jokes on his sister that he had a restraining order on him, that came back to life.

"I said…" Bart's voice was shockingly firm for a person in his particular situation. "I said that it was an accident, you crazy freak." His eyes were hard and focused on giving the valiant façade. Of course that didn't last long for a rather large hand cut through the air and connected with his blue cheek, making a cracking sound. Did he just break a cheekbone?

"That's what I thought you said." Bob sneered, his eyes narrowed to slits. He watched the boy wipe away the blood that fell from his nose; although he hadn't broken his cheek bone, it would seem that he broke the boy's nose. The white (and slightly gray) sheet underneath the captive turned red with the drops of blood that fell. "I just wanted to be sure I hit you for the right reason."

"Since when do you need a reason?" Bart scoffed as he wiped off some of the blood with his palm. He'd have to shower again soon…or at least use that dirty disgusting water to wash off the crimson liquid.

"Hm…" Sideshow Bob looked like he was honestly thinking about this, "Good point!" Instead of an open palm slap or even a backhand hit, Bob's fingers were curled into a fist which slammed right into Bart's stomach.

He doubled over, gasping for air as he felt his head go into the clouds; damn the need for oxygen! Attention centered on being able to use his lungs, he was startled when he felt long fingers slide under his chin, forcing him to look up; Bob and Bart stared at each other for a moment.

There was no way that either could deny that sudden spark they felt. It may not have been a spark of love, but maybe of passion…hatred…fear…mutual distrust…something! Either way, it rendered both speechless for a moment.

"Tell me what you saw or heard to stop me." Bob whispered like a desperate crazed man, like a heroine addict begging for a hit. Was he really that desperate for some sort of…of…reason?! What satisfaction would he get if Bart said, for example, he saw the gun?

Well…he could always be trying to learn from his mistakes. Next time if he tried to kill Krusty, he could come up with a better plan like, oh for example, not do it in broad daylight! If he wanted to kill anyone, not just Krusty, he was asking Bart such a question to ensure he wouldn't get caught again.

Then again…if Bart was stuck here dead or alive, the older man clearly didn't have to worry about being stopped by him. "I told you, it was an accident!" He exclaimed, feeling tired of repeating himself already. How long had it been since he came down here? Surely a few hours had passed!

The ex-clown sidekick's fingers laced around the boy's collar and within moments, his arms went in a back and forth motion rapidly. He shook the snot out of Bart as he growled almost in a shouting volume, "How in the hell did you do it by accident?! I made sure no one was watching! I made sure I was hidden, invisible, not worth looking at! Why should I believe you when you say it was an accident, you little…?!"

This is what set Bart Simpson off.

The famous words 'you little' from his father when he strangled the lad. Yes, he felt rage bubble and boil in his blood as he gripped the man's wrists, his nails (the ones he hadn't chewed off in nervousness) sinking into his skin. Thin crescent lines of red appeared.

"I can't help it if my shoelaces had been untied!" Bart shouted, alerting Cecil who was in the kitchen at that moment. The brother of Bob leaned towards the door, wondering what was happening. Shouldn't Sideshow Bob be the one screaming on top of his lungs with words? Shouldn't Bart be screaming in pain? "I stepped on them you jerk and I slammed into you, like this!" A fist slammed into Bob's eye.

"…Shit." Bart whispered, the infuriated look on the recently-struck-man's face draining him of all his energy.

* * *

Next chapter: Aftermath of Bart losing his cool; Cecil stops by and talks to the young lad, believing it really was an accident. Review please!


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks so much to Madam Pegasus, Nomandsland, Anyminutenow, Opaque Opal, Anon Tina, gae-ta, the-ginger-lady, ****Sacharissa Lupin****, Anne, siki-chan the neko, Swisssmarie & ****Denki no Usagi** **for reviewing! **

**I can't begin to tell you all how much your reviews meant to me! Honestly, thanks ever so much. They made me feel like I didn't have to rush on my stories (despite me having to rush on housework) lol. Thanks again, hehe.**

**And to the anons who really were different people, not just one, I apologize if I was wrong. However, if I was right…etc. I hope I didn't piss you off too much. And if I did…well, I should stop there before I really do lol.**

* * *

"…_Shit." Bart whispered, the infuriated look on the recently-struck-man's face draining him of all his energy. _

Just the a few minutes ago, Bart wanted to run around in circles until the ground under his feet gave way, screaming for help. He wanted to hide under the bed and pretend Bob was the monster in his closet, out to eat him. In a sad way, he was a monster out to get him. Bob the monster came out of the closet.

The older gentleman stepped back, a hand covering his eye with a grimace of pain painted onto his face. Slowly, as time went by and realization of what just happened dawned upon him, a scowling growl took place of the grimace. He looked at Bart with his good eye which could have been mistaken for his bad one for it was squinted with fury.

There were no words to describe what Bob felt. There was no way to put that bubbling fire in his heart that spread through his body like blood into a sentence. There was only his facial expression, contorted into faded pain and anger that would make a wrestler wet his pants.

How Bart Simpson managed not to soil his clothes was beyond amazing, impossible really.

"It…was…an…accident?!" His tone grew louder with each word. If it was possible, steam would have been shooting through his ears and he would have been panting like a bull. In a way, he was…panting that was. Whether it was from rage or something else, poor Bart had no way of knowing.

"Yes, it was." Somehow he managed to grip use of his voice, the very thing that always seems to get him in trouble when put to action. Although it didn't shake and quiver, his tone that is, like he expected, it held a certain fear in it.

Bob raised the hand that wasn't covering his injured face, ready to deliver another blow when suddenly the door opened. Both stopped what they were doing and looked up to see light, real daylight from the window in the kitchen, flood the place. Bart's muscles felt like goo; it had been so long since he saw that beautiful sight. It was one he took for granted and never thought much of until now.

In popped the head of Cecil. His short hair was that similar to his sibling despite the length and color moved slightly when he looked between the two men down the stairs. He tilted his head, curious as ever, and somehow sounded very much lady-like with his next question. "Is everything alright?"

The side of Bob that was hit recently with curled up fingers stayed out of the other man's sight. "….Peachy." He threw Bart back onto the bed as if he were a rag doll, a simple toy. No, if he had been a toy, even a child would have taken better care of him! He was like a broken toy; useless, full of old memories but promises of no new ones.

Not bothering to glance at the fear stricken face on the bed, he walked up the stairs and stomped heavily on them with his not-so-dainty-feet. It wouldn't have surprised either witness if the wood beneath him had collapsed and caved in under his extra weight and force.

When he shoved Cecil out of the way and stormed to only Heaven knows where, the man raised an eyebrow. As if slipping out of his trance at watching such an act, he walked down the stairs slowly. The door closed, cutting off the fresh light, the real light, and all of Bart's hope. It would appear that the man had absolutely no care about his brother; either that or he just was no longer affected by the rage he radiated.

"….What was that about?" He asked Bart, who struggled at first to sit up on the bed.

Rubbing his stomach lightly, knowing there would be several bruises sooner or later on his flesh, he said nothing. His body ached not only from the slaps and punches, but from this horrible bed he had to sleep on. His nose throbbed with a sharp pain as he talked every word, every syllable; this was word than a hangover!

"He wanted to know how I stopped him. I tripped on my shoelaces." It was short and sweet and straight to the point. He feared if he spoke too much he would, for whatever reason, faint…it _was _his luck after all.

"Tripped?" Cecil let out a small chuckle, standing a few feet away to give the boy some space. "Tripped?" This time a skeptical chuckle filled the air. "You're telling me that you…messed up Bob's plan which resulted in you being dragged down here and, from the looks of it, got your nose broke…because you tripped?"

"Well when you say it like that, yeah it's going to sound stupid!" He snapped, wiping off some blood with his shirt. But yes, he was now in his current situation of having a sped up heart rate every single time Bob came down…all because he tripped. Was it an act of Fate or Destiny? Or was it just rotten luck? Or was it his clumsiness that caused him to do all this?

"Hm…" Cecil leaned against the staircase behind him, which was across from the bed. "I don't think you'd foil him on purpose just to be brought down here." His tone was soft, far opposite of his brother. How could two close blood-sharing-people be so far away in personality and behavior? Yin and Yang. "In fact, I think you would have told him how you foiled him since you have nothing to lose or gain."

"But I had tripped over…" Bart started to raise his voice, annoyed of repeating himself.

The other man beat him though. "I know, I know…I think I believe you."

A moment of silence passed. "…You think he'll let me go since it was an accident?" The hopeful young Bart showed his face.

"No." Cecil answered bluntly. "But I'll try to talk to him about it."

"Why? I mean, why are you doing this?"

"…I have no idea."

* * *

Next chapter: Cecil tries to convince Bob that it really was an accident by pointing out several 'clumsy' moments in Bob's past…very humorous. Young Bart has had enough and sees the window across from the staircase, high and mocking him. What does he do? He comes alive and tries to escape! Review please!


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks to Anyminutenow, Madam Pegasus, MochaCocoaFan & ****Telling Stearson**** for reviewing!**

**Sorry for the long wait, I spent the whole last week getting ready for the Dark Knight movie and decided to take a few days off after the movie. Hehehe. The movie was well-acted, well-scripted, kept me on the edge of my seat literally through the whole action filled thing. I saw the midnight sohwing!**

* * *

The upstairs floor and the ground floor were pretty much quiet for the first few moments. Then all the curses ever invented were growled, muffled by the many twists and turns of the walls. These curses and examples of foul language came from the mouth of none other than pain bearing Sideshow Bob.

The blood of said man couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a small grin. It was true and a very well known fact that Bob was the sadistic one in the family but at that moment, Cecil felt traces of sadism course through his blood. It was amusing at how the man got beat up so bad by just one punch from his arch enemy.

"You look like you're in pain. I hope you understand at least _some _of the pain you've given Bart." Cecil stated smoothly as he leaned against the doorway.

The man looked over his shoulder despite a mirror being quite literally in his face, "Shut up…wait, what do you mean by that?"

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, the short haired brother answered calmly. "You beat him to a pulp, for instance. Now you know a little bit of what you've given him since he punched you…Looks like he's got a mean right swing too."

Spinning around fully so that he could face his brother, Bob sneered coldly. "What the hell do you want?!"

Years ago this would have made Cecil cringe. Not the sight of blood of course, since the man managed to wipe off most on his face although there was a faint red stain, but his anger. Even as children and especially into their teenage years, Bob was known to be a little…hostile.

"I think it really was an accident. Now before you can boo me, let me explain why." Cecil stood up straight to match the man's height. "It's very easy to create accidents. It's easy to be a klutz, to be clumsy and stupid and slow. It's hard to be smart and quick, we both know this from experience."

"You're talking nonsense!" Bob snapped, placing a wadded up piece of tissue against his bleeding nose. He turned back to the mirror, trying to keep his swollen nose from losing anymore precious liquid of life while attempting to wipe off the stains.

"You need ice for that you know." Cecil smugly retorted, going back to his earlier speech. "For example; remember when you were planning to move to Italy, you spun that globe around several times? When you finally reach the destination you enjoyed, you turned and wham hit a rake."

"…You're point?" The man growled lowly, threatening.

"My _point_ is you're just as bad as Bart is. At the military base, I think it was, you ran into a field of rakes; all of which you stepped on. When I tried to blow up the dam, you fell off the edge with your legs wide open and-…"

"You _don't _need to remind me about that." Bob shivered a little; just thinking of the memory brought up pain. "Finish up your petty speech."

Glaring deadly at his brother, he snarled viciously. "My petty speech will end that if you're stupid enough to run into a field of rakes, don't you dare deny it, then Bart is clumsy enough to trip over his untied shoes!"

"…I'll give it some thought. Now get out of my bathroom."

* * *

Next chapter: Young Bart has had enough and sees the window across from the staircase, high and mocking him. What does he do? He comes alive and tries to escape! Review please!


	21. Chapter 21

**Yesterday I tried texting and calling my friends to see if they were going to pick me up (Im a 5 minute drive from their house) or if I should drive over there so we could go to the mall. Well they ignored my texts and at 4 or 5, I texted the guy they were supposed to meet who said they were meeting another guy. I confronted my friend Victoria and ****then**** she decides to text back, saying she's at a guys (who is 4 years older) house. Then I find out about an hour later that they're at the mall! They didn't **_**feel **_**like texting me if we were going to the mall or not. WHAT KIND OF GOD DAMN FRIEND CAN'T TEXT A FEW SIMPLE WORDS AND LETS ME FIND OUT ABOUT THEIR WHEREABOUTS BY SOME GUY WHO IS STALKING ME?!**

**So lucky you, my readers, because I'm fueling Bart's anger with my own! Far more believable lines…yippie!**

**Friendship my ass.**

**Thanks to Swisssmarie, MochaCocaFan & Madam Pegasus for reviewing.**

* * *

Lifting up his shirt, Bart noticed a rather large bruise starting to form on his stomach. Said bruise suspiciously looked like a fist print, reminding him unintentionally of his situation, of how helpless he was, of how hopeless it all was. He knew that if Maggie was the only Simpson, or person as a matter of fact in Springfield, and she was fooled…no one would come back. She would not come back to double check. He was stuck here until he was escorted out in a body bag.

Rubbing his eyes with his balled up fist, he blinked and realized something; Bob's dry blood was on his hand. Fighting the urge to throw up, he walked to the bathroom and let the water run for a moment. His hand was already a dark red; he didn't need it to be stained by the brown water from the pipes. Why did his body seem to be attracting rainbows of colors all of a sudden? First the black and blue bruises on his stomach, the red handprints on his face that were also bruises, the dry blood on his hand…at least he wasn't covered in boogers.

When the water turned as clear as it would for a basement sink, he stuck his hand under it and watched as the grayish liquid briefly turned pink before going down the drain. Part of him still couldn't believe how he managed to punch Bob like that! The rage that had consumed him for that brief moment felt like an adrenaline rush, for that moment he thought that he could escape…of course it all died down once he had realized that he punched _the _Sideshow Bob.

Turning the knob which stopped the water from coming, he rubbed his eyes again. He was tired from the lack of rest yet his body didn't feel any weariness or sleepiness. His mind was exhausted, yes that was it; it was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster he just got on, not from sleep. Sad to say, it seemed that this roller coaster was stuck on running because until he breathe his last breath, he wouldn't get off of it.

If rage were like lightning then young Bart had just been struck for he suddenly turned and slammed the bathroom door against the wall, not caring if it made a hole from the doorknob. Quick as it came, it went away. He walked out of the bathroom and inhaled slowly.

However, his eyes landed on something that he had seen before…yet didn't really pay a lot of attention to. Now he did. For whatever reason, he paid more attention to it than he did anything else so far.

It was the window.

The window that sat up high yet so…reachable if manipulated right. The window that was small but still offered freedom and hope. The window that, even though it was night time right now, shed light and reminded Bart that there was indeed an outside world through that thin layer of glass.

For all that it represented, it was no use for Bart. It showed off what he could not have. It…it _mocked _him! Yes, many would assume that our young man was insane, or rather, going insane, yet it was true! In his eyes, he saw the window mocking him. It showed that he could never get out, that he was stuck there till…who the hell knew when!

Looking around, he could find nothing to use to climb up there…except the bed. Rubbing his shoulders as if he already knew he would get hurt for doing this (either from Bob or from moving the bed he didn't know) he prepared himself.

It took what felt like twenty minutes to move the bed diagonally across the room until it rest under the window. The time could have been cut in half…however, he wanted to be silent. After all, what was the point of moving furniture if it was loud enough for him to be caught? He couldn't exactly say, "Well I wanted to change the decorations."

His feet got onto the bed but he didn't really care. If he could pull himself up and escape, he wouldn't have to worry about a dirty bed! His arms were strong enough to lift himself up, yes, but after moving such a heavy bed and being tense with fear…he was…wobbly.

Just as he managed to get his elbows on the thin ledge, he heard the door open. "Bart, I've decided after much brooding that your claim about accidentally foiling me sounds reas-…What the hell are you doing?!" He cursed before running over, grabbing Bart and carelessly tossing him onto the ground.

When his back slammed into the harsh floor, Bart let out a loud groan of pain. How many injuries could his body take?! As careful as one can be after being slammed into the floor, he sat up and grimaced; his elbows had scraped the rough texture.

"Well, I _was _going to say I believe how stupid and clumsy you were…but I've had a sudden change of plans." Bob smiled down at him, towering over the boy.

* * *

Next chapter: Because I am a sadistic writer and because I've talked to Madam Pegasus over this…Bob decides to get a little cruel and dresses Bart up like a nurse while saying some Copyrighted quotes; any guesses what movie I'm borrowing that from? **Don't tell anyone Madam Pegasus…although they'll probably guess lol. Review please!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thanks to MochaCocaFan & Madam Pegasus for reviewing! (You're welcome for the credit!)**

**Okay, I've been dying to tell you where I got the idea from; Batman, Dark Knight! Lol. My friends and I saw it at midnight…XD I have some pics and videos of it on my Myspace page.**

**Anyway…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Simpson, nor do I owe any quotes or anything else from Batman/Dark Knight.**

**(R.I.P Heath Ledger!)**

**Oh…another authors note…There will be more romance starting this chapter and onwards! It took 22 chapters but…here it is lol!**

* * *

Sitting up under the shadow of a very angry Sideshow Bob, Bart Simpson felt his vision blur. His head was pounding from bouncing off the ground without any warning. His elbows were burning since he had scraped them moments ago, his back throbbing faintly with agony.

What could this man be planning? What could he be hoping to do? What sort of sadistic evil humiliating cruel plan could have popped up in his mind in the length of time it took for Bart's body to fall through the air? It was terrifying to know that this man before him, who had never succeeded in killing him when he was younger, could make up a plan that quick. True that he was smart, probably _the _genius in Springfield (not including Lisa) but for him to use his knowledge for such a thing…Bart shivered.

"Scared, young Bart? Good; I know I'm doing my job right." He yanked the boy up with a swift motion, making Bart feel his stomach churn. "I was thinking earlier…before I started to agree with my brother, before I started to believe that your foiling of me could actually be an accident, I thought of the past." Bob spoke clearly and loudly, knowing it would send a pulse of pain through the Simpson's head with each syllable.

"I believe I heard a very wise a very…noble quote before. _'I believe whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you…stranger.'_ Now I simply cannot recall who said that but I fear they were wrong in your case." He pushed the boy onto the bed, smiling charmingly as if he were the perfect host and Bart, the perfect guest. "You've always been a trouble maker, a King of Pranks, an attention grabber…even before I tried to kill you several times you were and afterwards you stayed the same way!

"Ironic, isn't it young Bart? Ironic how it seems that **I **am the one who has become…stranger. Every time I have plotted and planned and schemed to rid every drop of life from your little body…I fail! And every time after, I loose a little bit more of my mind. You might say you shot yourself, for I'm far more sadistic I am today than I was when I tried to, oh I don't know…rig that election; and it's all because of you."

"…What are you planning on doing, Sideshow Bob?" Bart finally found his voice after dusting it off.

The man stepped closer; although he rid himself of the blood red stains on his skin, it was obvious by the slightly crooked nose that he was still in pain. The Simpson had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing in accomplishment. His eyes sparkled with…with an emotion other than hatred, other than resentment, rage, disgust…it was something kind…yet it wasn't. What was it?

When the man's hand was placed under Bart's chin, the young man instantly slapped his hand away. _"A little fight in you…I like that." _Bob chuckled as he stood up a bit straight, towering over him. "Good…it means you aren't dead…yet. This should be fun."

Without any sign or hint of warning, his fist connected to Bart's temple…and blackness consumed the young lad. Bob looked down at the unconscious boy, smiling widely. He felt something that…utterly confused him…it wasn't hatred or the desire to kill.

Oh it was a desire all right…just not to kill…

How unnatural…

* * *

"…Alright…Now once again…tell me exactly…what…in the…fucking hell it is…you are doing." Cecil Terwilliger slowly repeated his twice spoken command, adding some rather foul language for emphasize. Normally he believed such curses were beneath him but…then again, so was Bob's behavior.

Had he not in mid motion of gathering several pieces of clothes, Bob would have laughed and chastised his brother like their mother used to do. Back at home, they couldn't even mutter 'damn' without getting slapped with a ruler.

Boy, that thing stung.

"I told you Cecil," one brother told the other, "I'm planning on humiliating Bart like he humiliated me…not just this last time either."

The short haired man rubbed his eyes, feeling a spark of guilt and disgust, as well as loathing towards his brother, turn from a spark into a flame. "And you're doing that by…Alright brother; I understand dressing him up in a nurse's outfit…but what does having him tied upside down have to do with _anything?!_" As if trying to make his question seem like one of Life's Questions, he threw his arms up.

This made the older man stop. "…For fun."

Within a few minutes, he finished dressing Bart. His old clothes were carelessly thrown into a corner, not bothering to check if it was a moldy one or not. Replacing his old rags was a white skirt that reached three or four inches above his knee, much to Bob's surprise. (Not that it was short on him, but that Bob found himself leering at that.) A nurse's blouse with a name tag crudely drawn with marker replaced his shirt, a little hat with the red cross on it placed on his head.

After placing the final touch on Bart, which was sliding a pair of shoes what were a combination of white nurses' shoes and high heels, Bob got to work…well, real work. Tying ropes around the lad's ankles, feeling a sting of regret for having to ruin such (oddly) perfect ankles, he threw the rope around a beam above them. With a shockingly small amount of force, he pulled the boy into air and tied the rope onto the staircase so he'd stay there.

When he saw Bart's eyes flutter open, he smiled. "Good evening Mr. Simpson…awake already, I see. I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of changing you into something more suitable."

Bart didn't even have to look to feel the air nip at his legs, knowing instantly he was either naked…or in woman's clothing. "You're nuts!" Immediately he flinched, waiting and expecting a hand to slap him for that remark.

Instead, he saw Bob's eyes narrow into slits, looking very evil in the shadows. "I'm not 'nuts'. _Y'see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little...push."_

To put emphasis on his word, he gave a violent shove which sent Bart slamming into the wall, making the hat almost fall off.

"…Hat?" Bart whispered, wondering what he was in exactly.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart finds he rather likes his outfit…Cecil watches from the door, thinking about slipping the poor boy out of the house…Bob is…well, being Bob! **Review please!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thanks to Madam Pegasus, Telling Stearson, ****chikoku shoujo****, anna, ****& Shimito for reviewing (although all Shimito did was put a bunch of dots.) **

**I had two people give me ideas and they sound pretty interesting; I might use them, it just depends on where the story takes me. In other words, I'm free balling right now so let's see what happens lol.**

**I know last chapter was odd and not really my style but I'm back to…well, my style. So yes, last chapter was a tad creepy but it's going to get more romantic soon. Moving onwards!**

* * *

What was a hat doing on Bart's head? This puzzled him for he didn't recall even _owning_ a white hat with a big red bloodied cross on it. Was it Bob's? Wait…why did Bob have a hat with a red cross on it? This just kept getting stranger and stranger!

It took a second or two to listen to his body. He felt a gentle breeze touch his legs and thighs, sending alarm and shock coursing through his blood. Feeling his heart skip a beat, he looked down…which technically was up and let out something of a half shriek. A nurse's outfit?! A nurse's outfit was what Bob put on him?! Why?!

Before he could get the chance to speak, his hearing detected the slightest creak but it wasn't from the rope that held him. No, this creak was faint which was why it caught his attention. His eyes moved pass a smirking Bob and up the staircase to see the door open. It wasn't wide open; merely an inch…big enough for an eyeball to pop through and look at what was happening.

"Tell me, Mr. Simpson, what do you think about your new clothes?" A refined voice snagged his awareness just like the door had. Hanging limply, except for one part of his anatomy that seemed to want to pretend it was a tent pole, Bart looked back at the voice's owner.

What did he really think of his new clothes? Well evidently from his hard piece of flesh, he was rather enjoying this. In fact, it startled Bart that the older Terwilliger didn't glance up and see said piece of flesh. Did Cecil, who was no doubt the spy, see it?

Not wanting to be slammed or shoved into the wall _again _Bart quickly composed an answer. "I think they're really…I like them." He confessed, unable to resist. What was the worse that could happen?

Ironically at the same moment he thought of that dooming question 'what was the worse that could happen', an image flashed in his mind; him in a pink maids outfit. Was it too late to retract his reply? Something told him it was…especially when Bob's eyes landed on the piece of him that wasn't affected by the cold.

"You like it, do you? Yes, I can see that…quite clear." There was a sparkle of laughter in his eyes that he refused to let out loud. This certainly was a new development. This was something…unexpected. Sure Bob expected him to like it, considering he monitored the boy and his 'crushes' for some time, but for him to…react in such a way!

Without realizing what he was doing, Sideshow Bob stepped closer with something of a daze. His long slender fingers suddenly wrapped around the piece of flesh poking out, drawing a sharp intake of air from its possessor. The chance to make a smart remark was too good to pass up. "I naturally assumed that since you were upside your blood would be traveling to the _other _head. Then again, Bart Simpson, you're not one to follow rules, even if it's the laws of physics you're breaking!"

All the Simpson boy could really do was bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud. The combination of his voice and his touch…oh talk about bliss! Looking at Bob with slightly annoyed eyes, he waited for him to speak again…yet he did not.

Meanwhile, at the door no more than 10 yards away stood Cecil Terwilliger with his jaw hanging loosely. His eyes grew bigger once he saw what his own brother did! How could Bob do that?! Wasn't he supposed to hate the boy? Or was that just a way to torture him?

It would make sense if Bob did it only to torture him…yet something deep inside the brother said that he wasn't doing it for that reason. Something told him that Bob did it…just to do it, just to…like it! Yet that made no sense. If Bob was gay or bi…he wouldn't go after his worse enemy…would he?

Bob was worse than a woman! So confusing, so…damn frustrating!

Cecil knew he had to get Bart out. Yet he couldn't. He wouldn't.

He could. He would. He should.

He won't.

He will.

Now Cecil was like a woman, switching back and forth, unable to make up his mind! Why did he suddenly want to get Bart away form Bob? Was it jealousy? What could he possibly be jealous of?

He liked Bart, he lusted after him. That was enough of a reason.

…Perhaps he could satisfy his own needs…and leave Bart where he was. Get it out of his system, perhaps, and stop thinking of a way to get him out. Yes…yes, that is what he'd do! Tonight!

* * *

Next chapter: It's late at night and Bart gets a visitor…very steamy chapter. **Review please!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Thanks to Evil-at-the-moment, Madam Pegasus, Gae-ta, neko chi, Shimito, ****Telling Stearson****, & chikoku shoujo for reviewing!**

**Schools been pretty okay lately. The work load isn't too bad but it's only the second week of school. I tell you, it feels like the second month! I'm already bored even though I have friends in almost every class! I'm worried about Spanish class though…oh well, off to writing!**

* * *

Was it night? Was it day? The light was on in the basement of course almost 24/7 so it was difficult to tell. The window above the floor across the stairs was covered by paper; whether it was to keep the rays of the hot sun out or to make Bart go insane without knowing what day it was, he was unsure of which reason.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he attempted once more almost pathetically to claw at the rope so horribly clingy to his ankles. They were tight like a snake wrapping around him in hopes to slowly cut off his blood flow. He had lost track of how many times he tried to rip apart the metal like rope, how many times he tried to unloosen the knot which seemed to be tied by a sailor, how many times he gave up hope with a soft cry.

Exhaustion hit him like an ocean; wave after wave he felt his energy be drained. Pressing both of his index fingers against his temples, he waited for the growing pressure headache to disappear. Alas, it stayed and if anything just grew worse. He hated these! Ever since he moved out, he got these more frequent than normal. Why? Because he barely ate.

Considering this had to be a number of days since his last meal, whether slop or food, his head was hurting badly. Not to mention, being tied upside down probably didn't help either. Oh, and the fact that the rope was cutting off his blood flow; yes, that didn't help at all.

Laying his head against the deflated feather-plucked pillow, he closed his eyes. The light that shined above was hell for him; he wanted nothing more than to get the pillow he rest on and slam it against the light bulb until it shattered. Much to his dismay, the pillow wasn't like the rock bed; it was…a sheet and two or three cotton balls. An exaggeration, perhaps, but that's how it felt to him!

Somehow he managed to start to fall asleep. His eyes were heavier than Barney's beer belly. Closing them, it became a miracle that he could block out the annoying light above him. He wanted to open his eyes to see if someone turned it off but feared two things; 1. If Bob would be hovering over him blocking the light or 2. The light would be on and keep him awake. This was probably his one chance to sleep and he didn't want to destroy it!

His mind was slowly giving up and letting him slip into oblivion. Oh how pleasing it would be when he fell asleep! How lovely it would be to be rested even though he'd be hungry!  
Oh if only he were that lucky…

Just when he thought that Lady Luck would visit this sorry situation, he heard the door open. It didn't creak but since it was dead silence otherwise, the gentle sound of the knob turning made his eyes snap open. His first thoughts should have been food or something related to escaping when he heard the knob twist. However, his first thoughts were 'Oh no Bob's back to get me in a nun's outfit!'

Looking over at the stairs, he growled in annoyance. His growl was muffled but still audible in the room. The bulb was evil! Not only did it keep him from resting but it made the whole room except for the staircase bright. Now he couldn't see the person walking downstairs! For a brief moment, he almost wished it was Maggie walking down the stairs.

When he saw someone similar to Sideshow Bob but younger and with shorter hair, he froze. "Cecil?" His tone was colored with surprise and he didn't bother to hide it. This was probably the last person he expected to see marching quietly down the stairs. "What do you want?"

The man said nothing; his tongue disappeared for the moment. Instead he let his eyes roam, trace every inch of the boys body, map it mentally. Subconsciously he had licked his lips as though staring down at a feast. Bart squirmed.

Then again, being tied down like that and gaped upon would make anyone feel like a delicious meal.

"…Cecil?" He repeated himself, his tone tinted with fear and uncertainty.

As though this had snapped him out of his thoughts, the older man looked at him and blinked. It seemed like he had been a zombie of sorts, just walking down lost in thought. Had he been dreaming? Had he been asleep? Had he been sleep walking? If so, what did he dream about to look so…hungry?

One would naturally assume that he had just been dreaming about food and went to the kitchen, accidentally arriving in the basement. Yet Bart Simpson had a hunch that this was no dream about food. It was a hunch but it was something that made him tense up.

"Ah, yes…why I'm here…" He mumbled almost to himself. "Yes…I remember now." Was he on drugs? He sat down on the edge of the bed suddenly, making a notation, "The bed's quite uncomfortable…I can only imagine how much it would hurt if something happened."

"…Something happened? Like…like what?" Bart felt his heart begin to race with fear. This situation didn't make a lick of sense!

Without answering the young lad, Cecil let his lips press against his, symbolizing to shut up. Bart's eyes shot open wide, his body stiff like a board, frozen like ice. Before he could even react to the tongue invading his mouth, he heard the door knob turn once more…

* * *

Next chapter: Just as Cecil is about to have his fun completely, Bob walks in…the brothers fight. Bart, stunned, lays there until he finally realizes the ropes are gone! Will he, can he, make it out in time before they realize his absence?! Review please!


	25. Chapter 25

**Thanks to chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, Shimito & ****Sacharissa Lupin**** for reviewing!**

**School and Texas heat has really taken a lot out of me. It takes me DAYS to write one chapter…ugh. The homework's pretty normal, actually, for now at least. I am expecting projects soon which will make my time fly away. Art class is annoying because I hate painting…ugh, just thinking about it gets me…anxious with dread. The hurricane scraped my town so it was comical to see everyone flip out; we barely got an inch of rain! Only wind! Barely! I was laughing when I walked into the store and saw all bottled water and bread gone; nothing there! **

**Moving on!**

* * *

The door knob turned for the second time that night. It was like a firecracker, the fuse being lit slowly which made suspense creep in, waiting for it to explode. It was like reading a good book, reaching just before the climax of the story and wanting to skip ahead although you didn't dare, for fear you might miss something. However, this held no good feeling to it, only suspense, dread, and fear.

Bart looked back at the man before him who looked somewhere between sober and drunk. It wasn't the alcoholic drunk, it was similar to the…emotional drunk. One emotion possessed him, one focus on his mind, his view only for one thing. It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time. Would the sound of the door opening snap him back into this reality?

The first piece of body part that Bart saw was a rather long and large foot step through the door. It rested on the first step which made a loud creaking noise when weight was put on it. One surely would have heard that, so why didn't Cecil?! A single glance at the man showed his eyes were glazed with dark emotions, that he was obviously lost in his own little fantasy. The idea made Bart shudder in both disgust and excitement.

When another foot joined the other and the body figure of Bob came into view, the young lad felt his breath catch in his throat. The stairs groaned louder, what with more weight on it, which caught the other brother's attention. Why is it, Bart thought, that everything seems to go slower than it had before? The kiss, the entering of Cecil, the confusion of why he was there, waiting for an answer…it made minutes feel like years. Now it felt like time had come to a stand still.

The Terwilliger brothers met eyes, a moment split between them; on one side of panic while the other possessed confusion. It took only a tick of time for them both to snap out of it. Replacing panic was the beautiful emotion called 'fear'. Confusion was removed and rage took its place. They both were smart; they knew what was happening and what to say, what was going to happen.

"What are you doing here?" Bob's voice was like a whip, snapping in a quicker motion than lightning. The Simpson boy actually flinched as though feeling the end of it strike his cheek. Even when it wasn't directed to him, he felt that…flicker of anxiety. Bob had the ability, that rare gift, to affect everyone in the room with one word.

Composing himself with as much bravery he could possess, Cecil stated in an airy voice, "Simply visiting your prisoner, making sure he didn't suffocate himself."

"Why do you care about _my _prisoner?" Bob pounced, unwilling to let him have one more second than he already had to think of a lie. "After all, you just admitted he was mine."

For a moment, Bart felt like a piece of meat; pretty to look at, tasty enough to make mouths drool, and able to attract more than one customer. _"Thank God they aren't cannibals…I'd be so screwed."_ The thought shot through his mind like a bullet.

"Robert," Cecil used his full first name which he knew made him twitch in annoyance, "I agreed to house your vengeance in my basement but I refuse to help you bury a body. I didn't want to walk in and see flies roam over Simpson's dead body."

The man inhaled sharply. "He'll be dead eventually. I see right through your lie. Tell me the truth, brother." He almost snarled the word that showed any blood relation between them.

Cecil narrowed his eyes. He stood up and crossed his arms, feet planted down. Whether you were a Terwilliger or not, it was an obvious sign of stubbornness. In this situation, it meant he wasn't going to say a word; he zipped his mouth, locked it up, and threw away the key.

Of course there were other ways to find out the answer.

"Bart." Bob barked out suddenly, making the young lady jump about half a foot off the bed. He had been so lost in the small argument between the gentlemen that he forgot he was there. It felt like he was watching TV, the mindless past time he did with his family for days on end. How far away it felt now.

"Uh…yeah?" He called out cautiously. Although he couldn't see anything but Cecil's back, he had a feeling the man was glaring but not at his brother. No, this glare was meant for Bart, hoping to silence him. It was working; his tongue felt like it was swelling.

"Tell me what my dear brother was doing in here." Bob's voice sounded coated with fake sugar, the kind they used for diet soda. Bart almost retched in nervousness and fear. If he told the truth, Cecil would hurt him later. If he didn't, Bob would hurt him later.

Wow, talk about having two guns to your head.

After a few minutes, Bart managed to swallow his fear. Forcing himself not to stutter, he looked up and jumped again. How did Bob get down the stairs that quick and silent?! He was now in front of Cecil, both men only a foot or two away from him. Licking his lips, he spoke up, "He was…I don't know. I mean, he came downstairs and just…stared at me. He…he…um…he had…kissed me."

Minutes ticked by.

Even though there was not a clock nearby, Bart was counting the seconds in his head. He didn't want to know how long it would take for them to react. No, he was wondering how long it would take for one of the brothers, or both, to slug him.

Oh yes, there was a punch thrown. However, it didn't hit Bart. It wasn't even aimed at him. The sound of flesh hitting flesh made Bart cringe, expecting to feel a burning sensation on his face…or elsewhere. When he looked up, he was shocked, his mouth agape.

Bob had punched his brother.

From what first became slow motion, it was now a blur of action. It was almost cartoon like to see Bob and Cecil roll around punching and kicking, perhaps even biting. It was cartoon like to the point where Bart thought he saw clouds of dust pick up under them. Perhaps he did; this place was filthy.

When he saw that Bob had been kicked in his manhood, Bart instinctively placed his hand on his thigh as though he felt the pain as well. When he moved his legs closer, however, he realized something; he was free. No ropes held onto him, restraining him.

His eyes brightened and his earlier thoughts about the brothers died down. It felt so weird to stand up, his legs wobbling and threatening to fall over. Thankfully for him, Bob or Cecil didn't notice. After taking a few unsure steps, he broke into a full sprint. The sound of the door being thrown open must have made them pause for he heard no punches being tossed.

The door to the back was open, it was open! Who cared why, it was open though! A huge smile spread onto his face. Home! He'd go home! He'd be free! Free at last!

…right?

* * *

I just LOVE to keep you guys in suspense :P

Next chapter: The door to freedom is open; the scent of fresh air is so strong that Bart can almost taste it. Will he get away? Review please!


	26. Chapter 26

**Thanks to chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, Shimito & ****Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801****for reviewing!**

**Wow! This past week, it was a four day school week, I had a chemistry test, Spanish, two geometry, two English and a World history test. Amazing, huh? I still am alive! Woo! And today, I get to write this chapter…between doing house work. So much for a day off lol.**

**I'm very sorry about this short chapter but I'm just so busy and…semi-writer's block. The real "romance", I guess you can call it, will be next chapter with Bob and Bart; promise!**

* * *

It was like the heavens above had seen him running up the basement stairs and helped by throwing the door open. Of course he didn't deserve such kindness after doing so much, causing so much trouble, in his life. Still, he didn't dare question why it was open.

His foot was, of course, the first thing to exit the house. Just by his foot leaving, he felt an enormous amount of stress be lifted from his heart. It felt like he was running in slow motion, his heart the only thing racing quicker than normal.

The doorway felt like there was a spider web on it, a bubble or something covering it. When he stepped through the invisible bubble, he felt like he was going from ill to healthy. It felt like he had been living in a house of pollution, choking on the smoke but when he stepped out, his lungs were filled with fresh oxygen.

He dared to let out a laugh that sounded hysterical and joyful. After being locked up so long, no wonder he sounded a little crazy. The night sky gleamed over him, almost blinding him since there were so many stars. They had to be on the edge of Springfield since the city lights blocked out such dots of glow.

The wind was crisp and cool, beating against his sweat soaked skin. He hadn't even realized that he had been sweating from fear and nervousness, from excitement and hope. The night air was so…clean! Compared to the dusty basement, which he didn't realize just how dirty it was until now, it was heaven! Although it was dark outside, he saw there was a difference between down there and up here.

He paused in his running, his lungs burning as though someone lit a match under them. Forcing his hands not to rest on his knees, he sat up straight and smiled. With his eyes closed briefly, he inhaled a large amount of oxygen; so fresh!

Within moments after he did this, he felt the wind be knocked out of him. A heavy body tackled him onto the ground. Although this was definitely not a good thing, Bart had to admit it felt good. The dirt under him was loose with patches of grass which felt almost velvety soft. It smelt wonderful, it tasted…not so great but still.

When he looked up, he saw the stars outline the silhouette of one Bob Terwilliger. Instinctively, he sharply inhaled and closed his eyes, prepared for the blow. Indeed he had seen the older man's hand up, ready to strike him no doubt…but he felt nothing.  
Dare he open his eyes to see what was causing delay?

* * *

Next chapter: Bob's about to strike Bart when he feels something in his heart stop him; we see his thoughts about this and maybe, just maybe, an epiphany. Review please!


	27. Chapter 27

Thanks to chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, & bazzo-kun for reviewing

**Thanks to chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, & bazzo-kun for reviewing!**

**Well, we have this thing in my town called the Peanut Festival which, you guessed it, we celebrate peanuts. Yeah, I hate it too. Usually I like it because we have half a day Thursday then on Friday, when it officially starts, we have it off. However, for some damn reason, we have half a day on Thursday AND Friday…which is pointless and stupid! **

_

* * *

_

When he looked up, he saw the stars outline the silhouette of one Bob Terwilliger. Instinctively, he sharply inhaled and closed his eyes, prepared for the blow. Indeed he had seen the older man's hand up, ready to strike him no doubt…but he felt nothing.  
Dare he open his eyes to see what was causing delay?

Eventually and almost against his will, young Bart Simpson allowed his eyes to open. They landed on the man before him who resembled an inanimate statue with his fist raised. If anything, this resembled a scene from one of Shakespeare's works, but for the life for Bart, he just could not recall the name of which play.

After a moment or two, Bart felt himself trembling. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, wanting desperately to break free it seemed. However, he sensed that the movement did not come from his own limbs or his bones. Instead, it came from the one holding him. Why would Bob be shaking though? Better yet, what would he be shaking with? Frozen rage? Anything else seemed impossible.

All the thoughts racing through Bart's mind were like bullets of confusion and terror, of wonder and of curiosity.

In the mind of Sideshow Bob, however, his thoughts lingered before zooming by. These thoughts were not bad though. For the first time, his thoughts were not about striking Bart until a tooth flew onto the lawn, they weren't about breaking his bones until they pressed against his flesh, or even slicing his skin to bring forth blood. They were about…caressing him.

Oh how the images zoomed by as fast as Bart's thoughts did. Images of the back of his hand, not slapping Bart's face, but rather brushing against his cheek invaded his mind. Images of his tongue sliding down his neck, his teeth sinking into the meeting point of his neck and shoulder pestered Bob. He wanted nothing more to wrap his fingers around the cloth that covered Simpson's body and rip it away.

And this frightened him.

He was supposed to hate the young lad, not…not want to make love to him!

His heart skipped a beat at the two words, those two deadly words, and he felt his hand tremble briefly. Slowly, as though someone had pressed a button on a remote to show frame by frame, he put his fist down. When he uncurled his fingers, much to his annoyance, they shook briefly.

The cool night air hit him, kissing the back of his neck. The drops of sweat that had appeared from the adrenaline rush turned cold, chilling his spine as they traveled down his back. Even before the beads of salty liquid would reach his lower back, he knew his shirt would be sticking to him and he knew how unpleasant it would feel. Perhaps if he took it off…the night air was welcoming.

Under him, and he just realized this as though it dawned upon him moments before, was a panting and sweaty Bart Simpson. The idea of taking his shirt off was both positive and negative. Once again, it frightened him that he wanted to do such before the lad.

Another blasted image came across his mind. This was the most frightening of them all; he imagined Bart Simpson naked, under him, panting and sweating just like he was now. Of course, fear and confusion was not the only thing this picture caused Bob to feel.

It took a moment to realize his pants were tighter than they should be. This meant only one thing; either they had shrunk in the wash and it took him this long to realize it…or he was getting hard just thinking about it. Part of him wanted to be ignorant and believe that his pants shrunk four sizes. The other part of him…well, it knew very well what caused such discomfort.

Whether all of him decided to agree on one thing or another did not matter. All of him, as a whole of course, knew there was only one way to rid himself of such distress. This way confused him and frightened him again. Wow, he was getting scared a lot…and only because of some damn emotions.

Standing up, he grabbed the boy's wrist and yanked him up. At this point in time, he didn't care if he ripped his arm out of his socket. He needed him, he wanted him, he…laughed out loud.

Sideshow Bob wanted Bart Simpson, not in the desire to kill but in the desire to…love.

* * *

Next chapter: In a rage mostly directed at himself along with confusion, Bob drags Bart down to the basement and we see a bit of a lemon. Review please!


	28. Chapter 28

Thanks to Gae- ta, chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, & Evil-at-the-moment for reviewing

**Thanks to Gae- ta, chikoku shoujo, Madam Pegasus, Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, & Evil-at-the-moment for reviewing! **

**I have noticed that my chapters seem to be getting shorter and I do apologize for it. However, I think I've hit that time in life where one feels a low depression dragged on for days and weeks even; I feel isolated and alone. This depression has brought on a writers block only for this chapter, it would seem, so I'm very sorry. It'll get better though.**

**Just to remind you guys; this is rated T so I hope you weren't expecting a full blown out lemon pie.**

* * *

His heart was racing although his lungs seemed to be calm. Bart could only stare up at the man, noticing the beads of salty sweat travel down his clammy skin. Bob's own limbs were trembling as though they were leaves caught in a hurricane's harsh winds.

What could this man be thinking, Bart so desperately wondered. It was terrifying yet…in an odd way, very exciting. So many scenarios had gone through his mind within the few moments that were spared. Would he smash their lips together abruptly in an act of desperate passion? Would he grind their hips together in the need to release a dam of building pleasure? Would he grow nails or claws out of nowhere and rip off his clothes just to see sinful tempting flesh?

With the quickness of lightning, Bob stood up while holding the young lad's wrists, dragging him up as well. It was a miracle his shoulder didn't get dislocated. The man looked somewhere between dazed with an odd emotion and confused, panicked, even frustrated. Once more with the swiftness from earlier, Bob ran off back into the house.

Cecil was not nearby when they entered the place. If he was, he certainly hid well since neither male saw him. Could it be that perhaps he was upstairs tending to the wound that his older sibling gave him? Either way, it was apparent that he wouldn't be bothering them any time soon.

The stairs creaked under their weight, groaning in protest. The nails shivered as though wanting to escape its prison. The wood itself seemed to bend with the mold from years of damp atmosphere. Still, only Bart seemed to notice these minor details. Bob, on the other hand, was in stride of getting what he so longed to do.

A small yelp of unexpectedness left Simpson's lips as he came crashing down on the semi-rock cot. He bounced for a brief second before looking up at the man. It seemed like everything was happening too quick, as though some viewer of their struggle pressed Fast Forward. Bob's lips slammed against his, muffling any protest, bruising his gums.

Despite his attempt to silence any sound, Bart let out a startled shout into the kiss. The source of such was Bob's hand which had grabbed his half hard erection, making it full and thick. Soon his startled cry turned into a moan of need. His hips thrusted upwards, his member moving in and out of his hand. His free hand grabbed Bob's bushy hair and, like breaking a spell, Bob yanked away.

Panting heavily, he looked at the young lad shaken up. It was like he was the devil he stared at instead of a human being. Shaking his head, he turned away and all but ran up the stairs, leaving Bart as confused as he was aroused.

* * *

Next chapter: We spice up the story and see Maggie go to Chief Wiggum, reporting her suspicions. Will it work? Then we look at the Simpson family! Review please!


	29. Chapter 29

**Thanks to chikoku shoujo, Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, & Evil-at-the-moment for reviewing! **

**And to chikoku shoujo; thanks for the concern but no matter how depressed I am at the moment, since bad news keeps coming at me, I'd never think of suicide. It's selfish and it's considered a sin.**

**Moving on though…**

* * *

The alarm was shrill yet quiet, a very odd combination. However, normally it got the job done. Maggie Simpson sat on her bed, staring out the window as she heard the machine tell her to wake up. This morning was far from normal though, for she had been up a little before dawn, thinking.

She was roughly eight years old and was almost a carbon copy of her older and only sister Lisa. Tales of how smart Lisa was at that age seemed to keep her up at night, making her wonder if she would ever match up to her genius. When she was a little younger than eight years old, she went to the library and skimmed over some of the old books Lisa checked out. Of course, then again, she checked out nearly all of them so it took quite some time to go through them.

The first book she chose was like a sign for it was a scientific book. It talked about genes and how traits were passed along. This was both a relief and a worry; would she be intelligent like Lisa? Or borderline stupid like Bart? And what was worse; how would everyone, especially her parents, treat her then?

Recent events showed that she was between smart and dumb. After all, she tracked down Sideshow Bob when no one else did only because no one seemed to care about Bart's disappearance. That was smart. However, she went alone and with a small weapon; that was dumb. How very easy it would have been for the man to tie her up and kill her since she told no one where she went.

This time though, she was determined to prove herself smart. She had awoken from a bad dream about Sideshow Bob striking her brother. Since then, she brainstormed and planned on what to do. Part of her wondered if Lisa would join her in her plan…or turn her in to Marge and Homer. Perhaps she would mention Bart nonchalantly as they went to school…

* * *

The bus was quiet when they got on. There were two groups of people; elementary schoolers and high schoolers. It was sort of an unspoken rule that the younger kids sat in the front despite being the second stop while the high school kids, who got off first, sat in the back.

This was probably one of the few times Maggie would be able to talk to her older sister though. They didn't see each other during school and over half the time, Lisa stayed after school to study for something she already knew. Deciding to risk it, she followed the young woman to the back of the bus and heard several kids protest.

Lisa turned, spotting Maggie instantly, but instead of snapping at her, she turned her attention to the other kids. "Leave her alone; she's with me!"

"Don't you guys study enough at home?!" Nelson exclaimed, making several students snicker. Maggie frowned at the boy who looked like he lived in a cardboard box. His hair was greasy but whether it was from his own grease or some hair gel, she dare not ask. His face was smudged lightly and his clothes weren't exactly spring time pleasant. Was this the boy who used to beat up Bart?

"You can never study too much; it's when you study less and fail the tests do you have to worry." Lisa sharply spoke, making almost half the bus look down. In that instance, Maggie knew and could almost see her sister being head of a corporate office that saved the world one day.

Once they sat down three seats from the back, Lisa whispered, "What do you want?" It wasn't sharp like an annoyed sister would speak, it was merely gentle with curiosity. This was just one more reason why she loved her sister, and hated her; she could be kind and understanding almost all the time.

In the same low tone, for she knew there were people nearby who couldn't mind their business, she spoke, "I need to talk to you. It's about our brother."

Certain darkness overcame Lisa's eyes. Was it anger? Was it regret? Was it sadness? Much to her dismay, Maggie wasn't an expert in reading eyes just yet. Her voice was still quiet but not as gentle as it once was. "What about our brother?" Each word seemed clipped.

"I think he's been kidnapped by Sideshow Bob!" She hissed at her sister, getting annoyed at how she couldn't tell what she felt. There was no way she would mention that she had already been at the man's house.

Lisa looked at the seat, studying it with her eyebrows scrunched. It was a miracle she didn't bore a hole through it! Finally after what seemed like a long internal struggle, she replied, "I think you've been reading too much into those mystery books. I'll see you after school." She stood up and walked away from the seat, looking troubled.

Looks like Maggie would have to go alone…again…

* * *

It was real easy to ask Otto to drop her off at the police station. He had grey hair already and his hearing seemed to be fading…or maybe it was the constant headphones that dampened his ability to hear. Either way, she asked and she received.

The police station's steps were cracked from years of wear and tear. It looked like it was made in ancient times, especially when one walked inside. The bars that were made of iron and metal seemed to have rusted slightly. Could they really hold a criminal now?

"Excuse me…Chief Wiggum?" She stepped over to the desk and almost flinched at the towering man. He was wide but, comparing pictures to now and several years ago, a few pounds lighter. His eyes, tired and sleepy from awakening from a nap, looked down at her.

"Oh, hello little Lisa." He tilted his hat back with a flick of his finger, smiling warmly.

The gray on his head made her wonder if he was losing his memory. "No, Chief Wiggum I'm Maggie."

Frowning, having not liked being corrected, he smiled again. "Sorry about that, Maggie. You look so much like your sister…wow, time flies by, huh?" He sounded more like the grandfather Maggie didn't get to remember.

"Sir, I came here to talk to you about the whereabouts of Bart Simpson, my brother." No doubt this kind of talk reminded him of Lisa. Maggie both liked it and hated it; she was able to sound smart…but she was in her sister's shadow. When would she get out?

Wiggum smirked. "You're brother is probably playing a prank on everyone like he always does. Or maybe he moved out of town." It had been all the town's gossip when Bart left his own home.

"No, I think you're wrong." Part of her, the young part that was truly eight years old, grew annoyed. "I think Sideshow Bob took him!"

Wiggum suddenly burst out laughing, making the cruel sound echo in the room. It was amazing how the buttons on his pants didn't pop off from it. "Sideshow Bob hasn't been here in years, kid, so stop worrying."

Maggie's fists clenched, fury making them shake. "That's a lie! I saw him!"

"Yeah right, where? On an old Krusty special?" He chuckled, wiping away a tear from his eyes. "Go back to school and get an education, something your brother never did!"

* * *

Next chapter: Maggie goes out to find her brother; Cecil and Bob had a fight that ends with a horrible surprise about Bart. Review please!


	30. Chapter 30

**Thanks to Penelope2000, Madam Pegasus, Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, & Evil-at-the-moment for reviewing! **

**Ugh, I'm looking through the Simpsons fanfic page…and I don't see many Bob fanfics. Come on people! Well actually, that story ****Three Kisses**** is cute! Lol…not many more besides that.**

**I can't recall the name in itself of the episode where Bob has to search for the guy who wants Homer dead but if you know, please tell me…because I want to watch it now. Lol.**

* * *

Under the paper like covers, Bart felt his skin sweat…yet the funny thing was that he was cold. For the past hour or two, he had been shivering violently as though he was stuck in the middle of a snowstorm. And although he was shaking horribly, his skin was excreting salty water, sweat, which obviously showed he felt like he was in a desert.

How ironic. How sickly ironic. His body felt two different things that were as opposite as North and South pole themselves. He felt as though he was in both places at once, dealing with the temperatures.  
This was not normal and he knew this. It was even abnormal for him! Pulling the covers over his body tighter, he replayed the scene that happens a while ago. The sweat would no doubt make the sheet cling to him and, if it was truly made of paper, dissolve into almost nothing.

How strange it was that he grew very aroused at Bob's touch. What was Bob doing right now? Was he pacing upstairs? Was he fighting with Cecil? Was he losing? Was he winning?

Feeling the feverish dreams start to take over, he allowed himself to slip into them. Though he knew very well that these dreams, especially when feeling two different climates at once, could become nightmares easily, he did not care. At this moment, he wanted to get away from it all…just for a minute.

* * *

The road to Sideshow Bob's house was a particularly long one. Actually, it was to Cecil's house, or at least it said so on the lease. The road was twisted, almost as twisted as Bob's personality and humor. It was as lonely as Cecil's ring finger. It was as dark as both of their hearts.

Yet in an odd way, Maggie Simpson enjoyed traveling through it. On the bike that was once Lisa's, yet managed to stay in almost prime condition miraculously, she rode through it. The bike was rusted on the middle, pink paint trying to cover it. The handle bars lacked it soft rubber handles so she had to deal with the metal itself which, much to her dismay, left a nasty scent on her. However, everything else was in prime condition.

The road was sometimes made of gravel and it was sometimes made of dirt. The tires held its own against the random construction of the Springfield country road. The wind was whipping around the faster she went so for that reason only, she went the same pace she would normally go in a park on a sunny day. After that, the wind was gentle and almost caressed every inch of her skin.

The scent of this country air was far more acceptable than the one in Springfield. In Springfield one could smell the smoke from the Power Plant, even could smell the moldy smell of radiated wood falling apart. It bluntly smelt horrible, making one crinkle their nose.

The country air though was…clean! It smelt of freshly cut grass, musty hay from the cows eating, even the scent of rain was clearly in the atmosphere! Had it rained recently? It could have easily been a watered lawn instead of rain. Looking down at the ground, she saw there were faint patches of damp dirt. What little light the sun shined upon this peacefully evil place revealed that it indeed had rained.

That was another thing that bugged Maggie. How could such a warming and welcoming place be lived by two evil cold hearted men? It just didn't fit!

Either way, she pulled up to the same house and paused. Slowly getting off her bike, she stepped over the small puddles and the muddy areas, eyes narrowed. There were two sets of footprints; one big, obviously Bob's, and the others small. Then there seemed to be a large imprint on the ground as though something slid against the damp ground.

With suspicion making her senses heighten, she quickly headed towards the door.

* * *

"How's your nose?" Bob teased Cecil, feeling all the confusion, fear, and lust drain from him instantly. He was back to his normal self for a brief second.

"How's your manhood?" Cecil shot back with a bag of ice on his face. The other brother frowned, annoyed by this. It was true, though Bob hadn't noticed yet, that he had been walking with a slight limp.

"What were you doing down there with Bart? You even admitted that he's **my **prisoner!" The man with a limp snapped at him, not bothering to answer a rhetorical question.

Shifting the icepack he stood up and almost stomped his foot. "And he's in **my** house! Therefore that means he is also **my** prisoner! What I did with him is none of your business!"

"You kissed him!" He shouted with obvious outrage. "And pardon me but I don't recall you helping any when I kidnapped the boy!"

"He's not a boy anymore; he's a young man, an adult even!" Cecil shouted right back, matching his tone. "Stop calling him a boy, you sound like…like…like a pedophile!"

Suddenly he was shoved back, flipping over and off the bed onto the other side. Growling, Bob rubbed his knuckles and turned to swiftly retreat. His brother kissed the boy…no, he kissed the man named Bart Simpson and had no confused feeling or regrets about it. It was obvious he enjoyed it while Bob himself was unsure about it.

Before he even knew it, Bob found himself in the basement which he had came down to only hours ago. The boards creaked and the nails squeaked, alerting the rats and mice below to hide just like before. However, unlike before, he was not dragging Bart down with him.

When he reached the ground, he almost stomped over to the bed. Seeing the covers drawn over the lad's shoulder, he sat down and grabbed his shoulder tightly, holding it as though he'd try to get away. "Do you recall that time when I saved your pathetic father's life? It was when I got out of jail only to be dragged into your home, that stupid ankle bracelet stuck to me. That night when I snuck in your room…I wanted to do more than slice you up. If I could redo it, at this age, I would have rap-…"

Bart let out a pained moan as he struggled to open his eyes. Foggy and disoriented, he looked at Bob without actually knowing he was there. Sweat drenched through his shirt and through the sheet, soaking the older male's hand. With his brows shooting up, Bob studied him for a brief moment. "You're ill." He whispered in shock.

* * *

Next chapter: Bart gets sick so that means Bob must take care of him…as much as rated T lemon as you can get is coming up! Lol! Plus Maggie knocks…Review please!


	31. Chapter 31

**Thanks to Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, Flower, Samuri Yoshi, Evil-at-the-moment, and ****chikokushoujo for reviewing!**

**This has to be the longest chapter I've written for this story in a while lol. It's probably because I had 5 days off, including the weekend, for Thanksgiving and had time to relax and brush up on Bob…hehehehe. **

**REMEMBER; THIS IS RATED T!**

* * *

Indeed Bart was ill.

It was actually quite a miracle that he managed to keep his health up while he drank so heavily these past few months. When he'd come home from work or from school, he would eat a TV dinner that tasted like plastic and chewed like cardboard and wash the delicious meal down with alcohol. He had long ago gotten used to the taste of scotch, whiskey, vodka, and almost anything hard and acid like.

Although he kept well (as well as one could while drinking constantly) it seems he had suddenly crashed now. Perhaps his body had just had enough of the stress. He had been kidnapped, beaten, had a hang over, ran off, got tackled twice if not more, kissed by two men who hated him supposedly, and had nothing to eat or drink for quite some time now. The stress must have gotten to him; either that or it had slowly been eating away in secrecy ever since he left home.

Maybe it was his emotions. Maybe it had nothing to do with food or drinking. For the past few months and years, he felt so…messed up. Confusion, hatred, injury, confined hurt, sorrow, pity…all these negative emotions he felt and usually kept bottled up. They may have been the reason why he grew sick suddenly. Bottling up these accursed things sometimes forced the body to take a turn for the worse.

So now Bart Simpson was ill.

Sweat covered his body like a blanket of its own although his limbs shivered from the dampness of the air. Bob grabbed the paper like blanket and ripped it off as though it were the source and cause of all this. He tossed it on the ground and silently decided he'd get the young lad a real blanket next time.

"Can you hear me?" His rich voice reached Simpson's ear, caressing it almost. "Bart, say something before I slap you…trust me, I would not mind." Although he meant for it to come out sadistic and almost cruel, it sounded, to his hearing, rather weak and hallow.

"Mmm…Sideshow Bob?" His eyes were half open yet covered with a foggy like cloud. "What are you doing in my bedroom? Where's Krusty?" What was going through his mind? Bob frowned at this behavior, unsure of just where Bart thought he was at the moment.

"I'm not in your bedroom, you're in my basement. Actually it is Cecil's basement but never mind about that." He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, glancing up to the ceiling when he spoke his brother's name. "Krusty is not here…Bart, how old are you?" If his suspicions were right, he knew very well what kind of illness the boy had. Hopefully though, he would be able to cure him.

"I'm ten." He stated weakly with a tone, though covered in exhaustion that said it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What are you doing…" he seemed to have caught himself in repeating the same question, "why am I here?"

"You are here because I kidnapped you." He stated bluntly. Bob was never one to tap around a subject matter; he was the kind to tell it like it was and not feel too much guilt about it.

"Kidnapped? Why is Homer right there? And mom?" His gaze shifted ever so slightly over Bob's shoulder. Did he really see his parents there?

Risking it, he asked his curiosity, "What do they look like? Are they mad?"

"No…they're worried." He sounded touched by such an illusion. "Even Homer looks scared…"

"Listen to me," the man spoke up, "it is nothing but a hallucination. You do not see your parents because they are not there…least of all Homer since he seems to strangle you constant…ly." His eyes widened as he realized something. Indeed if Homer had been here, he would have been strangling either Bart or himself and Marge would be talking soothingly to her child.

Alas, they were both worried and scared looking. Since these phantasms were coming from _his _mind, it meant that he himself was worried and scared. It was his own unknown, subconscious way to admit to his taker that he was terrified. So was the act of being a ten year old simply…an act? Or had the fever gone to his brain?

"Stay still, Bart, and I'll get you a cold towel and some food." There must have been a great deal of caring in his tone for Bart's eyes snapped over to him like a wide, widening like a bridge opening.

When he walked up to the ground floor, he rubbed his eyes. Although weariness had not set in, he felt some form of emotional exhaustion claw at him like a cat would a mouse. Was it possible that he was growing tired of hiding his true feelings? What were his true feelings?

Running the tap water for a moment for it to get as cold as sink water can be, he quickly put together a sandwich with a cut up apple. It wasn't the ideal meal for a 'ten' year old but it had the vitamins he needed. As he poured the orange juice in the cup, he frowned and looked up suddenly, sensing something was to happen.

Dampening the cloth, he slowly shut off the water as though sound would give away he was there. Placing this all on the table, he slowly took large steps towards the entrance door. Was that a shadow he saw from the porch light? It was already night so…

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Despite being not even five feet from it, he jumped slightly. He knew very well that Bart's fever could get worse if he didn't put the cold towel on his head and gave him some nutrition. Dare he open the door and risk waiting?

"Stop staring at the blasted thing like it had fourteen eyes and open it already!" Cecil suddenly walked down the stairs, his smaller feet bare for one of the first few times. When he spoke, his brother noticed, the words were slightly muffled and when he exhaled, it sounded like a whistle.

Smirking at his brother's misfortune, Bob supplied, "You might want to get away before you start playing 'Taps' with your nose."

"Funny." He said dully, glaring at the man. "Answer the door already!"

"You do it, Bart's ill and I should really get him his food." He turned and started to leave. It was a miracle his voice had been low, for the person outside only heard snippets of their conversation.

"It's amazing you can walk." Cecil made a late comment before saying, "What's wrong with our darling prisoner?" One would naturally assume he was joking by the way he called Bart a 'darling'…but he wasn't…and that was what irked Bob a lot.

"Fever and hallucinations. He needs food and something cold, now answer the door." With eyes like the slits of a snake, he walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Once he grabbed and balanced the cloth, food, and juice, he slowly walked down the stairs to the basement.

When he was sure the basement door was closed, Cecil spun around and opened the door. The being before it had raised its fist to knock just as he did, catching them by surprise. The person who had knocked was none other than Maggie Simpson.

The chilly wind brushed against her, making her spike like hair shiver just as her skirt did. "Good evening Mr. Terwilliger." Her voice reminded Cecil so much of her older sister. "I need to ask you some questions."

"Did you not do so a day or four ago?" The man leaned against the doorframe, a gesture that meant he was guarding the place with his body. As odd as it sounded, he had grown much attached to Bart, obviously, and the very idea of him leaving made him act like a jealous lover.

"I did." She replied tartly, her back straightening at the gesture he made. "I have thought of more over the past few days though. It'll only take a minute." Without waiting, she pushed past him and walked into the home. In her hand, Cecil noticed, was a bottle of pepper spray. This made him grin.

"I know you have Bart here somewhere." Maggie got straight to the point.

Although surprised by her determination and firmness, he played it cool. "Hmm…strange, that doesn't sound like a question."

Annoyed by the playful smirk on his face, she snapped, "Fine! Where are you hiding Bart?"

"I wouldn't know since I didn't take him."

"But you're brother probably did." This made Cecil freeze for a brief second, yet it was long enough for Maggie to know she was right. "Where is he? Tell me!"

"Or what?" His eyes grew small as he stepped closer, towering over her. "You can't do a single thing even if we did have Bart here. I could easily throw you out if you try to trespass here again."

"I'll go to the police then."

This made Cecil laugh full heartedly. "You're as smart as your sister; I bet you already went and they laughed you right out of the building!"

"…How did you get that broken nose?" She suddenly questioned. "You wanted me to ask questions and not statements, right?"

"…Robert and I were fighting over a woman." He twisted the truth slightly. This girl was getting a little too close for comfort in the question department.

"I thought you were gay though."

"Get out of my house!"

* * *

Helping the boy sit up, Bob let him lean against his being like a pole. He watched in silence as the boy slowly drank the orange juice and nibbled on the food. Although he was starved, Bob had instructed him twice to eat slowly or else he'd probably throw it up instantly. While he ate, Bob held the cloth over his forehead.

"Do you still think you're ten?" He bluntly asked.

"…how old am I supposed to be?" Bart suspiciously asked between chews of his apple.

"At least in your late teens." He stated calmly, listening to him slurp his drink. "You're sick and you think you're young…look at your own body and it will tell you your age."

There was a moment of silence and when Bob felt his prisoner's cheeks heat up, which caused good worry considering his fever had started to lower, he looked down. Following Bart's gaze, a large smirk came across his face; he was staring at the rather hard bulge in his pants. "Told you."

Pushing away the scraps of his meal away, Bart tried to move away only to find out how tight Bob's grip could be. "Ah, ah, ah…you're staying still. With your luck, you'll get sick all over the floor." Seeing such a sight and feeling Bart's lively and warm body pressed against him…he felt as though he were drunk.

His free hand that didn't hold the cloth reached down. Hearing Bart gulp audibly, he let his fingers tap on the swelling before unbuttoning his pants. Bart inhaled sharply from the surprise and, probably, the sensation he got. His hips arched up almost against his will to get more attention, more touches.

Unable to resist, Bob pulled the zipper down agonizingly slow. It made Bart whine quietly which sent all the blood of Bob down south instantly. When his member sprang forward, Bob felt like a kid in a candy store…

* * *

Remember; this is rated T so I hope you didn't expect too much…

Next chapter: In his delirium, Bart confesses his feelings to Bob…and Cecil overhears it. Review please!


	32. Chapter 32

**Thanks to Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, Sera, Evil-at-the-moment, and ****chikokushoujo for reviewing!**

**Again, I am sorry about the long waits between updates but I've been really busy and really tired. I should be able to post more during Christmas break next week though!**

**These idiots at my school put all the nine weeks test the week before Christmas break and the semester exams (which Im exempted from thankfully) after it. Stupid, huh?**

* * *

As though sex were the cure, Bart no longer believed he was truly ten. He knew very well he was seventeen. He knew _very _well that Sideshow Bob kidnapped him and there was the proof on his lap, the same kidnapper sucking him off. This was the second time, shockingly enough. It was like the man was intoxicated despite there being not a drop of alcohol in the house.

All through out his puberty, Bart heard whispers and rumors of a love or lust being so strong that it 'intoxicated' the person. He never really understood what they meant by it. After all, how could a person get drunk from an emotion? It just made no sense!

Yet as he watched Bob gaze at him with a cloudy look in his eye, he understood suddenly.

Sweat slid down his skin but whether it was from the fever or the climaxes, or both, he did not know. He just knew that he was blushing fiercely. It was true that he fantasized and dreamt (against his will usually) about having sex with a girl and sometimes even with a guy. Those were rare though, more of a sprinkle than a wet dream.

Lying on the already soaked bed, Bart looked tiredly at Bob who, in a nutshell, was 'cleaning' himself up. "I…" he whispered almost raggedly, "I…enjoyed that."

"That much was obvious." He snorted at the comment. Still, there was a dim light in his eyes that hinted he was relieved to hear such a thing. Had he ever performed a blow job before? And if so, with who?

This made jealousy strike up within him like a match scraping against a building. It was just a flicker of fire but was soon fanned into something stronger with each thought of 'who? Who? Who?' What if it was someone he knew? After all, Springfield _was_ a small town where everyone knew everyone. It was a place where your affairs and plans were posted up on a bulletin board.

But Bob had left for quite some time so if he did receive or give anything of the sexual sorts, the chances of knowing the person was one in a million, if not a zillion.

"Do you still feel sick?" He asked softly, snatching Bart from his enraging thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder if Bob knew what he felt. Maybe he sensed the jealousy and oncoming rage. Or maybe he simply looked at the young lad's face which shared similar traits to a window of his emotions. Either way, he chose the perfect time to stop such silly opinions.

Bart answered honestly, "A little. I think I'm still running a fever." He knew fairly well thanks to old movies he watched as a boy that once a fever hit close to 104 or over, it was fatal. The last thing he wanted to do now, especially after finding out what a special 'gift' Bob had, was die.

"How old are you?" Bob questioned, becoming serious once more as though he never sucked him. "Do you see just me here?" Hopefully, he thought, the food helped out a bit…

"I just see you." Bart suddenly stopped, not bothering to answer the other question. An idea popped up in his mind like a light bulb buzzing, fighting to stay on. If the man believed him to be delirious, perhaps he could reveal a bit of truth and see his reaction. If he reacted well, he would confess it was all true and he wasn't 'cloud headed'. If he reacted bad…well, obviously he would probably blame it on the fever.

"Bart?" The ex-sidekick raised a brow, caution lacing his voice. "Are you alright? How old are you?" The boy had such a wide eye and blank expression that, to be truthful, it frightened him. The only other time he ever saw the young Simpson with that look was when he had placed him under his command.

Oh yes he remembered that time quite well. After succeeding in becoming a principal or janitor or whatever the devil he had been (he had so many disguises he couldn't possibly remember all of them) he called Bar to a shed. After professing that he had a life outside of Bart, namely the war between rakes and himself, he hypnotized the boy.

Making him hate the clown he so adored before, he placed liquid bombs, in a sense, on his person. After the make up wearing man said a certain phrase, Bart slowly made his way over to hug him. Once he hugged him, once the buttons on his palms were pressed, they both would die.

Sadly, Krusty had made some sappy speech, even sang an embarrassing yet cute song, about how he missed Bob. Touched by such a thing, Bob tried to stop Bart. That was his downfall; the stupid monkey caught sight of the explosives and ripped it away, snapping Bart out of his control once and for all.

It was only later did he find out Krusty had been warned by some man named 'Snake' about the explosives. That was a well taught lesson to Bob; never ask for liquid explosives from a man who was named after an animal! So yes, he had been set up.

"I love you." Bart suddenly stated firmly, yanking Bob from his thoughts so fast that his head spun.

Up the stairs of age stood one man with a broken nose, glaring angrily at the men below.

* * *

Next chapter: Cecil's reaction; then we see Maggie grow angry at her family for being so uncaring and decides to run…Review please!


	33. Chapter 33

**Thanks to Han, Evil-at-the-moment, Sera,** **marilynmanson1990**** and ****damonika2009**** for reviewing!**

**Real fast, I would like to mention to anyone who loves Sideshow Bob (which is a lot of people since you're reading this) check out ****ChichOOC3lin3 & ilovesideshowbob12's videos on Youtube. They both are very good at making the MV's; I've fallen in love with some of their videos!**

* * *

The words had the effect of a bell, echoing after for several moments. It was loud, becoming dim though the sound was stuck in Bob's head. His eyes were large as he heard the confession, his throat dry, and his tongue swelled with words he could never say.

"Love?" He repeated in a whisper. His voice wouldn't speak any louder. "Love is…is nothing but nonsense!" Bob's whisper became harsh and cold, unfeeling. Oh how he longed to hold the boy and to confess his feelings as well. Something held him back though. Something…deep inside kept him from doing so.

Bart looked crushed, as though he were a child again and told he couldn't have a truck. It felt like Bob had slapped him hard, knocking out his perfect adult teeth. It felt like he punched him in the stomach, leaving him breathless and in need of air. Yet air to him was love, love from the very man who just hurt him.

"I…" He pulled away suddenly. Though he felt a little dizzy and a tad bit queasy, he wouldn't be touched by the man who rejected him. "Leave me alone!" He suddenly shouted, the volume of his voice high enough to make the poorly built stairs shiver.

If they were cartoonish, smoke would be coming from his ears and his eyes were be bloodshot and blood red.

"Yes…leave him alone, leave him to me." A voice suddenly cut both through both of their thoughts. The tension between the two was instantly dissolved and replaced by an even greater one full of fear.

As many times before, the stairs creaked with every pound of weight put on them. There was something different about the creaks right now though. It was almost as though they were real instead of just wood. They cried out, warning Bart of danger that could and would no doubt come. The question was…when?

"Cecil…what do you want?" Bob was always an expert in hiding his emotions, controlling them. Hell; he proved that just now…kind of…though it blew up in his face.

So many times he had let his rage show only because any other emotion would destroy his own reality. He wanted to kill Bart; he needed to…that was his 'reality' in a sense, his own 'reality'. If he revealed any other emotion…it would shatter like a rock to a mirror.

"I want what young Bart wants." There was an uncomfortable sparkle of menace in his eyes. Cecil always had a sophisticated voice, one that held the demand for respect just like his brother's. He sounded like he was from the 19th centaury with his tone, his dramatic speeches, and his emphasis on certain things. Yet right now his classy voice took a turn into ragged rage, full of sharp edges. "I want you to leave him alone."

"Why?" Bob shot back, standing from the rock like bed. "So you can devour him?" There was a hint of humor in his tone, like a grain of salt in the ocean.

Once again, Bart felt like he was in the middle of a ho-down, the prize of whoever won. He felt like a piece of meat and it was irritating; he liked Bob, not Cecil! It was as if at that very moment he had voiced his thoughts, though he was pretty sure he didn't.

With eyes full of fierce fire, Cecil stormed up the stairs though they shook with his sudden weight. Both men who were still in the basement looked at each other, silent words being exchanged. One question was spoken thought; "What was that about?"

Just as Bart stood to try and persuade Bob into reviewing his feelings, the stairs creaked again. Alas, they did not make such loud noises as before since Cecil stopped at the second top one.

Bart looked up, suddenly feeling as though he were stuck in time. Actually it felt as though…as though it was all in slow motion.

In Cecil's delicate hands was a firearm, his long slender fingers pulling the trigger instantly. A bullet shot out, aimed at the owner's brother. Bart looked over at Bob, taking a step to shove him away…but the bullet slammed into Bob's chest.

* * *

The TV was on.

It was always on when Homer was home.

Maggie rubbed her eyes, tired and frustrated. She walked into the living room where she heard knives, spoons, and forks hit the plate; her family was eating. They always ate before the TV; why though?

"I'm home…" She announced tiredly.

Without shifting her eyes, Marge said, "Oh welcome home sweetie."

"I think Sideshow Bob and his brother have Bart. They acted suspicious…" She said, hoping they would look over.

Instead she got silence. Well, not silence really. The noise of silverware hitting plates, teeth chomping on food, burps, and the TV answered her. "Who did Sideshow Bob take?" Homer asked, chomping loudly.

"Bart!" Maggie shouted. "Your son! Your only son, Bart! Do you people not care?!"

"Who?" Lisa looked over suddenly as though snapping from a daze.

Growling, she ran…

* * *

I know the ending was eh, but it's late and I'm exhausted.

Next chapter: Now that Cecil shot Bob…will Bob live? What will happen to Maggie? Review please!


	34. Chapter 34

**Thanks to Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, Sera, Evil-at-the-moment, Lorescien, and Milou for reviewing!**

**I've been very busy lately so sorry for the short chapter.**

* * *

The gunshot rang out loudly, echoing for a full minute in this underground room. If Bob was chilled from the draft in the room, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference of dying now. The grunt he gave when he felt the sharp metal pierce his skin was loud.

"Bob!" The young man shouted as his eyes grew huge. With panic outlining his voice, he felt on the verge on tears and the man hadn't even hit the ground yet. The smoke from the gun, the very light and almost invisible smoke, floated up and was smothered by the ceiling.

Instantly he was kneeling besides the man, his limbs trembling lightly. Reaching out, he felt as though merely touching the man would make him shatter into pieces. The man was human and the bullet to his chest surely would end him so what was one touch going to do?

"Bob, please don't…don't die, please." He begged as if the older man had a choice. There was blood darkening his gray sweater, almost camouflaged because of its color. He grunted from the pain, sliding his fingers through Bart's.

Cecil stood on the top of the staircase where he had been at all along. It was the same spot where he listened to their confessions of love. He glared at the two, a small bit of regret sparkling in his eyes. Whether he regretted shooting his brother or causing Bart sorrow, it wasn't clear.

Still holding onto the gun loosely, he looked away. Bart's cries echoed in the room, torturing him. Silent, Cecil walked through the door and headed out the front. He didn't want to hear anymore. He didn't want to listen to his crush's cries of agony or see his brother's accusing gaze.

The young Simpson scooted closer and placed Bob's head on his lap, listening to him gasp sharply from the stinging. He leaned forward kissing his forehead, then his lips. Bart grimaced when he sat up, tasting copper; blood. There was blood on the edge of his lips and now on his own.

"I won't let you die…I promise." He whispered, tears falling rapidly. "I'll be right back, I swear! Please don't die, please!" Bart stood but not before placing the man's head on the pillow he had. "Bob I love you, please don't die!"

Hoping that would give him the motivation to live, he sprinted up the stairs. He mentally noted not to go back down after Bob was saved; it would give away at any moment. Grabbing the phone, he paused.

The phone was in the kitchen all along and he had been in there at least two times. How did he not see this? Shaking his head, he ignored his stupid mistake and was about to dial when he realized something. "Bob!" He shouted, "What's the number for 9-1-1?!" Again, he stopped and blushed furiously, grumbling under his breath.

He would blame it on panic.

After dialing and telling them what happened, leaving out the kidnapping part, he turned and jump over the railing of the staircase. With tears swimming in his eyes, he slowly removed the man's shirt. "It's alright…it's alright…I promise." He whispered softly, trying to sound strong. "I'm just seeing if the bullet went through. The paramedics are coming; just five minutes Bob, just five minutes!"

"Bart…" He rasped, his voice shaky and breaking. His hand reached out, grabbing his shirt. After a moment, he stroked Bart's cheek with the side of his hand that wasn't bloody. "I love you…"

His eyes snapped open to realize what that meant. Bart gulped and stared at him widely. Those were the words the main character would whisper before they died; he had seen enough movies to know that! "No! Don't die, Bob please! Bob!" The man stared at the ceiling, unblinking. "Bob!"

* * *

Next chapter: Maggie appears just as the paramedics do. Review please!


	35. Chapter 35

**Thanks to Twilight Emo Wind Goddess 801, Davinci, Evil-at-the-moment, samuri yoshi, ChaosGirl08, ****marilynmanson1990**** and ****SHS5011** **for reviewing!**

**To anyone who can empathize with me when I say school kicks ass, a free cookie to you! I've been updating slowly because A. I'm exhausted at the end of the day and B. I'm also trying to write my personal stories/my novel. Rest assured though, you will enjoy this!**

**P.S. I hope to get to 200 reviews ;D Hint hint!**

* * *

Indeed it was true that in all the movies and what little books he read, the last words of a dying lover was 'I love you'. The chick flicks were especially infamous for such sappy teary scenes which, on occasion mind you, Bart glanced at. At the parts he just _happened_ to sneak a peak at were usually those scenes, hence why he was a semi-expert on it.

This is why when Bob gasped and struggled for air before proclaiming those three touching words, he assumed the worse.

Yet life is never like a movie or a book.

True love rarely comes true, Knights in Shining Armor are really fat bums in tin foil, the intelligent person never gets to be Prom King/Queen, and bad guys usually win depending on who has the most money. Likewise, saying such sentiments when injured didn't necessarily mean one was to die.

Bob's eyes fluttered closed but moments later, they opened ever so slightly; this was a tell tale sign that he was struggling to remain awake. He wanted to live, that much was clear. And live he did, he continued to breathe though it was shallow and weak, until the paramedics came.

Outside the house that was a prison for young Bart parked the paramedics.

Right behind them ran little Maggie Simpson, not quite an adult by years but by wisdom, very ancient. It was common knowledge to anyone though, even Ralph or Homer, that an ambulance meant trouble; either there was a dead person somewhere or there was a dying person somewhere…usually.

Naturally, panic and worry struck her like lightning, making her limbs weak. Fighting the urge to just fall to the ground or faint, forcing the paramedics to take her as well, she stumbled over to the door. What could have happened?

Her feet moved quicker than her body or mind; even if her thoughts were racing, she could hardly grasp and truly understand any of them. It was like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands in a rushing river. It was damn near impossible!

She looked in and gaped slightly to see who was on the stretch. The white sheet around it was slowly becoming pink, then a crimson red from blood. It was a sickening sight and at any other time, it would have been fascinating to her. After all, Maggie was Lisa's sister; she enjoyed learning no matter what the situation.

The shocking thing was that it was Sideshow Bob who rest on that stretcher!

What was even more shocking was the fact that Bar was next to him, walking and holding his hand. His eyes were full of tears that were held back, full of worry and fear. How could they be though? Was he not taken by this man, Maggie wondered? Was he not locked up somewhere? Or could it be possible that he went willing to Bob on his own? This thought hurt Maggie for if he did, why would he avoid seeing her, the one who loved him most?

"Bart?" She finally spoke up just as he had passed her, his eyes never leaving Bob. Her voice sounded like glass that was cracked, ready to shatter at any light touch. It was amazing she could even speak loudly.

The young man recognized her voice instantly; she was his sister, was she not? Of course he knew her voice. He spun around, still holding Bob's hand, and stared. "Maggie!" He hugged her tightly when she all but tackled him. "Where…why are you here?"

Before she could answer, one of the paramedics snapped, "Hey, you two coming or not? We have to get this guy to the hospital if you want him alive!"

* * *

Next chapter: The hospital…The Simpsons drop by…Bob loses it. Review please!


	36. Chapter 36

**Thanks to SHS5011, kat10788, jafarjasmineforever2005, samuri yoshi, ChaosGirl08, and ****chikokushoujo for reviewing!**

**If things go as planned, this story should have more than 50 chapters…hopefully. Right now, I'm debating how to fit more of the Simpsons in here so expect a few chapters dedicated solely to the Simpson family, while others are dedicated solely to that sexy son of a bitch Cecil ;D**

* * *

White walls, white floors, and creepy nearly-broken toys were the theme of every hospital. Bart used to think when he was younger that the hospitals loved Hallooween so much, they made their buildings look creepy year round. After all, who would feel normal and at ease in a place that looked incredibly clean, so clean that it blinded people momentarily?

When he had gotten older, he soon learned mostly from his several trips to the ER why it was always so…colorless and plain. It was supposed to be sterile which, in a nutshell, meant completely clean. The ironic thing was, and he didn't figure this out until he was in his late teens, there were so many sick people in these buildings that instead of being most clean, it was the dirtiest building in the city!

Ever since he found that out, he tried his best to keep out of the hospital.

After all, you may go in there with a broken arm and come out with the flu…or worse.

The ride in the ambulance had been relatively quiet between the two Simpsons. While the paramedics tried their best to stop the bleeding, speaking in terms that might have well been in another language for all Bart knew, his focus was solely upon the bleeding man. It was when his younger sister grabbed his hand did he remember she was with him. He had jumped partly from surprise and partly from shame for forgetting about her.

"He's stable." One of the men said to Bart after a long painful few minutes. Those minutes seemed like years to him though with worry eating away at him. These words were like a key that unlocked the floodgates of relief which washed upon him instantly. More tears appeared in his eyes but they were far from worry and fear; they were relief.

"Bart, what happened to…?" Maggie begun to talk for the first time since they had stepped into the vehicle. Her eyes drifted to Bob and scanned his body, gesturing to whom she meant. Although the name itself wasn't poisonous, she had an odd suspicion that Bart would burst into tears if the name left her lips.

Feeling foolish for just remembering he wasn't alone in that van, he looked at her. As soon as he had opened his mouth, they stopped in front of the entrance. In they ran with the rushed cart occupied by a bleeding 'stable' man. That was when Bart noticed just how blindingly white the place was, which lead up to his earlier thoughts of hospitals being ironically dirty.

"Bart?" Maggie looked up at the tall young male she shared blood with. Clearly sensing his fear, she grabbed his hand and gave a reassuring look though neither knew what destiny had in store for the man. It was so scary to think about.

It was scary to think about destiny or fate, the end of life. It was both terrifying and entrancing to think about what your life was going to amount to, if anything at all. To think about the mysterious future was…intoxicating. A man could drive himself insane pondering what might and will happen one day, what might not happen as well.

Clearing his throat, he tried again to play the role as 'big brave brother' though only two words of that were true. "Maggie, how did you know I was at Sideshow Bob's?" He asked as they walked through the crowded hallways. It didn't take long to find the waiting room which had a TV on the ceiling corner playing some bad soap opera.

Giving a wryly grin, she said before plopping herself down on the seats of plastic, "Well I remembered all the times Bob tried to kill you. I also remember your fear and hatred for him so when you went missing from school, I put two and two together."

"You remember?" He looked down at her, astounded. She had just been a baby when Bob first started his attempted murders, always failing of course. If she remembered that, what else did she recall?

Laughing, such an odd sound in the waiting room of a hospital, she shook her head. "No, I mean I remember you and mom telling me about it."

"Oh." He chuckled weakly in embarrassment, grinning sheepishly. "Then if you suspected it, why didn't you get the police?" His awkward attitude disappeared and was replaced by cautioned curiosity. It didn't seem like an action Maggie would do, not bring the police to Bob's house for a search.

However, once again, she proved she knew more than he did. Leaning back, she urged him to sit next to her since he looked ready to fall over. "I tried to. Wiggum just laughed me out of the building. Besides, I had no evidence…they couldn't have gotten a search warrant based on the suspicion of a child's alone."

"Oh." He mumbled softly as he did as she silently asked, sitting next to her. "How's the family?" He sounded reluctant and grudgingly asked.

It was eerie how well timed the entrance was.

Almost instantly after those words left his lips, a group of three came walking in, looking bored, annoyed, panicked, confused, and perhaps a little angry. It was almost impossible not to recognize who they were and if Bart didn't, he was a bigger idiot than once thought.

Homer Simpson.

Marge Simpson.

Lisa Simpson.

All three were scanning the area for some sign of their two children, the one who lived with them and the other who basically disowned them. When they saw the two in a far off corner, all three wore different masks of emotions.

As always, Homer had a look of absolute rage on his face as well of irritation, annoyance…every negative emotion there was.

Typically Lisa looked questioningly and confused, perhaps a cross between exasperated and pleased to see her brother.

And as a mother should, Marge looked frightened but, oddly enough, at the same time relieved.

* * *

Next chapter: The visit; Bob hears about the Simpson's visit by Bart and 'loses' it. Review please!


	37. Chapter 37

**Thanks to SHS5011, kat10788, jafarjasmineforever2005, samuri yoshi, ChaosGirl08, and ****chikokushoujo for reviewing!**

* * *

"Mom…Lisa….dad." Maggie's voice rang out. It started with typical child like excitement and relief to see her mother, then her sister, but then instantly dropped into worry and disappointment to see Homer. It was like she just fell off a cliff.

Bart's response was a tad less…optimistic. His lips instantly twitched downwards into a frown and all he could think about was how he had left them, how he had ditched them. Now here they were, all of them in a hospital, Bart looking like crap since he had been a prisoner for the past few…whatever it was.

What was he supposed to do? After all he had run away…he told them off and took off. Then he was kidnapped by the two men who wanted to kill, and apparently rape, him. No one noticed and when Maggie, who was the only one to do so, tried to alert them…they simply ignored him. Now here they stood; how was he supposed to react?!

"Oh Maggie! Bart!" Marge's unique voice rang out full of tears as she ran to hug both of her children. It seemed no matter what happened, blood from a mother's vein was not easily cut off as one might think. Bart felt a sudden temptation to cry in relief at feeling familiar arms around him; all this stress about Bob's injury, Cecil's crush, his captivity…he almost lost it then and there!

It was Homer that stopped him though.

"Boy, how dare you get your sister involved?! She could have gotten hurt!" He nearly roared.

A nearby nurse walked over with a stern glare, beating down the male Simpson. Her voice was as cold as she was pretty, "Sir, if you and your family wish to keep talking, I suggest you leave! There are people here trying not to panic, we don't need you causing trouble!"

Bart's heart shot ice through his veins. "Wait no, please! I have to stay in here; I have to be sure Bob is okay!" He shot up from his chair, his legs jelly from all this emotion, but managed to keep standing. By the sound of his voice and the name he shouted, one would think he said a secret password.

The nurse's eyes flashed with recognition and she nodded slightly. "Alright, you can stay…but find an empty room and stay in there; I don't want you agitating my patient's friends and family again!" In a heartbeat, she switched back to the cold hearted nurse.

Reluctantly, Bart considered his options. If he stayed in the waiting room where there were witnesses, his father's shouting would get him kicked out for sure so he wouldn't be able to hear about Bob. If he went into a private room with his father, even if the whole family came, he risked his neck (and life) but could learn about Bob's condition…and be near life-helping medicines just in case.

It seemed like the lesser of the two evils so he nodded, and then walked to what he hoped was a private room. Perhaps if he snuck into one that had a patient resting, he could have someone ready to call for help in case something happened. It seemed like the best solution.

Walking into the next available room near what looked like an area full of machines to bring people back to life; Bart stepped in and hoped he wouldn't have to use one of them. The room was cold as most were, the curtains open though it was dark, and the lamp was dim on the other side of the curtain. It smelt of blood, fresh blood…the patient might still be out, he thought.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Homer started up again, scowling. "Maggie could have been hurt!" He paused. "And what were you doing with Sideshow Bob?! I thought you two hated each other…why do you care if he's dead?"

The Simpson boy looked a bit hesitant. How could he answer without sounding…well, gay? There was no real answer that wouldn't spark the string of doubt and suspicion in all of their minds. No matter how he worded it, he was…well, screwed.

"I didn't drag Maggie into this. Unlike you guys, she searched for me." There was an accusation in his tone, one he didn't mean to show. "I wasn't exactly able to tell her to leave because I was locked up in the basement!" He went on, the bitterness getting to him.

Nothing had changed with his family; they cared for themselves, they didn't give a damn about Bart, the infamous troublemaker. Of course back then when he truly was a child, he would have agreed and semi-understood their behavior. Now though, he hated their way of acting, especially since he was locked up in a damp dirty basement getting hit and abused!

"That…you….we…it…" Homer stuttered indigently, his narrowed eyes from the rage swiftly widening in shock. It took a moment for him to actually gather his thoughts. When he did, he dodged the first part to save himself and shot back, "Then why does it matter if Bob dies?!"

"**Because I love him!"** Bart shouted so loud that it bounced off the walls, repeating itself a couple of times as if wanting to get him into deeper trouble than he already was.

"You…WHAT?!" Homer roared just as loud, if not a smidge louder. He shook, the rolls of fat on his side jiggling as if he were on a lawn mower. Just as he opened his mouth to give the boy an earful, a familiar voice rang out.

"If you don't stop this asinine behavior, I will have a nurse throw you're overweight butt out." It was Sideshow Bob!

The curtain was yanked back by the sickly weak man though 'weak' was the last thing he looked like. True he had lost a lot of blood…but it was emotion that fueled him into sitting up with a grunt. Instantly Bart stepped over to help him, placing pillows behind him so he wouldn't strain himself too much.

"Now would someone tell me kindly what the hell is going on?" Bob cursed through gritted teeth, a rare treat indeed. He made no move to touch or even look at the young Simpson next to him, merely glared at the older one nearby.

"You…love him?!" Homer repeated with disgust. "But that means you're…" he began to stutter almost comically, unable to finish his thought or sentence. Lisa and Maggie looked, as always, okay with it. They weren't surprised but neither were they angry. Marge, on the other hand, looked shocked.

"Get out." Bob stated coldly. He knew fairly well that this would only lead to a fight soon. After all, Bart always made him want to kill him so…why wouldn't his father, especially now?

* * *

Next chapter: Bob and Bart talk about their emotions… Review please!


	38. Chapter 38

**Woooooo over 200 reviews! I'm very happy ^_^**

**Thanks to BlackForestRider, Penelope200, Lii, Chaosgirl08, kat10788, Madam Pegasus (Welcome back by the way!), and StarDustKat for reviewing!**

* * *

The hospital room was quiet after the Simpsons left. It was actually quiet enough to where one could hear a needle hit the ground. How did they know it was that silent? Well, because Bart backed into a nightstand that held a tray, knocking it down. It made the older man wonder faintly, and hope, that the needle wouldn't be used on him. The nurses might have done so already but they were not going to use it now, the hell they would.

"Sit." He ordered with the same tone he had used to metaphorically shove Homer out of the room. It was on accident though; he was still attempting to calm down. Instantly he regretted raising his voice though for it made Bart , the boy did as told.

It was like nothing had ever happened. It was like the fact that he kidnapped Bart…just evaporated. That he humiliated and injured him; this fact was thrown out the window like filthy water in the 19th century. Almost like their memories were erased, they acted surprisingly civil to one another.

"How are you feeling?" Both males asked in accidental union though their meaning held no similarity. One meant physical, the other meant emotional. Unsure of who should go first, they hesitated before speaking.

"I'm sore but I should be okay." Bob said first, grabbing first chance to speak. It was still taking a while to adjust to the idea that his brother was the cause of this. He wouldn't be in a hospital bed with needles poking him like a pin cushion if the man hadn't become overwhelmed with jealousy and shot him.

With a small grin, the younger lad nodded. "Good…I'd never stop pranking your ghost if you died." It felt awkward to say such a thing but how could a boy express his feelings to another of the same sex?

Risking a low chuckle, the man tried not to cough up a lung though it was very tempting to do so. Instead he smirked and said, "I wouldn't want that…now would I? How are you feeling?" Trying to slip away from the subject of death, he wanted to focus on getting out.

Bart shrugged. "I'm okay." It was obvious that right now he wouldn't talk. His eyes darted to and fro the door, obviously nervous and a bit scared. It wasn't the fear he felt when he had awoken in a basement, it was the…the 'crush' type fear. The anxiety of a 5th grader crush.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Bob suddenly questioned. He never was the type of man to back down. He got what he wanted one way or another; did he not prove that by kidnapping Bart? True the boy was alive there, but now he didn't want him dead…not anymore at least.

"What?"

"What you shouted at your father." He supplied helpfully though he knew Bart had just exclaimed in surprise instead of genuine confusion. "Is it true?" As much as he tried not to show it, there was a hint of…excitement in his voice. An edge of hope, of caution.

Shifting on his seat, the young Simpson let the squeak fill the air at first. It was a brief distraction and an even briefer escape from answering. He knew he'd have to tell him the truth but…it just felt…weird.

"It is true." He mumbled softly.

Instead of hearing a scowl or a 'I love you' back, he heard silence. It was understandable when the man didn't answer. Just like Bart had done, he was buying time by toying with the IV line. Finally he said, "Would you like to live with me?"

* * *

Next chapter: Bob gets out of the hospital…Cecil spies on them. Review please!


	39. Chapter 39

**Thanks to ChaosGirl08 and kat10788 for reviewing!**

**Well, I've just (foolishly) published a Riddler fic…so that means this one will be ending soon. In the next few chapters we'll be winding down…**

* * *

It was hell, but they managed to get out.

As if they were paid a large portion of the ridiculously high bill, the nurses fight like hellcats to make Bob stay in bed. He had been shot after all! He had been shot in the chest and nearly died and already here he was, ready to haul tail out of there before the moon even rose!

Although Bart agreed with the working females, and in this case one male nurse, that Bob should stay longer, he dare not voice it. The man was strong willed, perhaps even a bit too…stubborn but not in a bad way. Part of him wanted to know what would happen if he spoke up. Would Bob get mad and tell him to leave? Or would he ignore him? Or better yet, would he get 'punished' for it later when they were in his house?

The man reminded him without meaning to that he could still be the same psychotic bastard as before. He must have had more control over it but still, he reminded Bart just who wore the pants in his relationship. It was an amusing way to show it too, fighting with little women who were stronger than him.

At long last, however, they were allowed to leave. A whole day had passed and reluctantly, the nurses gave in and let Bob leave. Then again, maybe it was because of the fact that he would not leave them alone all night. Bart dozed slightly through the night but every time he woke up, he would fine Bob pressing the Call button half a dozen times for the simplest and silliest things; the vase of a fake flower looked lopsided, he wanted his hair combed, so on so forth.

If he hadn't willingly limped out using Bart's shoulder as a cane, the nurses would have kicked him out. Comically enough, as they left, Bob was mumbling how he actually enjoyed the softness and sinking feeling of the bed. They walked to a nearby car and ended up going to his house again.

Somehow the blood from his wound in the basement had disappeared.

Had someone come down after the ambulance took off and cleaned it? Had Bart's family came and cleaned it up? If they did, it made no sense…surely they would have stormed right back. Unless it was one of his sisters, or his mother, who cleaned up. But again, why go here? To get evidence that he had been kidnapped? They were a bit late with that…he was now here willingly. In the end, he chose to believe Maggie and Lisa came and cleaned up.

Yet what if they hadn't? What if Maggie didn't reveal where Bob lived? That had to mean someone who knew of his remote location had to arrive when they were gone. For whatever reason, they wiped the crimson liquid off the harsh gritty ground and possibly planted some sort of listening device. Or watching.

The very thought sent chills down Bart's spine. He tried to ignore it but found himself coming back around, imagining a dozen scenarios. But for Bob's safe, for he was recovering still, he pretended he had cleaned it…although he hadn't exactly left the man's side since he arrived in the ambulance.

"Lay down…" Bart said softly, helping him into bed. He would take the room next to his, both upstairs, just in case something happened. "I'll get you some water for your painkillers." And just like that, he was deemed Nurse Bart.

The house, at first, was a maze to him. After all, he had only been there for a while in the basement. The only time he managed to get out of the basement was for escaping through the kitchen and running around which, in truth, wasn't that much. That meant that…well, he was lost at first.

After he got said glass of cool clear liquid for his lover, he looked around the halls. There were pictures but not of Bob or Cecil or even their family. It was just pictures of great plays, of things symbolic that he didn't understand. Whatever happened to his parents, he wondered?

Better yet…what ever happened to Cecil?

Almost as soon as he thought this, he could have sworn one of the guest room door's closed an inch.

* * *

Next chapter: Last chapter Review please!


	40. Final Chapter

**Well, we have reached the end. I always hate and love writing the last chapter because while I'm ending it, I'm also accomplishing a good story. It lets me have more time to write others and start another Simpson story one day soon…but I'll miss everyone's reviews XD **

**Thanks to everyone who helped me reach over 200 reviews ^_^ I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

Snores filled the bedroom. After many painkillers and little food and water, Bob finally managed to fall into a much needed deep sleep. Last night he had spent all his time making the nurses jobs a living hell, being more nocturnal than he ever has been. Staying up constantly, however, took its toll on the sickly man and the drunken sailor like snores proved it.

Satisfied and perhaps a bit prideful, Bart smiled at the man as he sat in a nearby chair. It had been a tiring night to get the man to stay in bed…he wanted Bart to join him. He voiced his need, his want, to him twice but Bart managed (barely) to resist. Rest, he insisted to the ex clown, and then play.

And oh, he knew he would be sore about an hour after Bob awoke.

But for now, Bart decided to walk around the house. Not only did he want to see exactly where he was held captive, but he wanted to be sure it was a safe place. The last thing he needed was to see Homer or Cecil or someone pop up and kill him…or Bob. No, he wanted to protect his lover…who ironically used to want him dead.

There was a sense of dread filling Bart. It was like when one watched a horror movie; they knew something was going to pop up and go 'ooga booga' but they weren't sure when or where until the last second. But by then it was too late.

That was a feeling he absolutely despised.

When he turned to go into the kitchen, he froze briefly. Could he step into the very room connected to the basement, which held him prisoner for so long? Would his mind, his body, allow him to do so a thing?

Eh.

He walked in and grabbed a glass, pouring water into it.

Resting a hand on the sink edge, he stared out into the darkness that swept through the land not far ago. Was someone out there, watching him watching them unintentionally? What a creepy thought! Of course, he reasoned with himself, there were worse thoughts. Like; was there someone behind him smiling this very instance? Was that person grinning because they knew he didn't sense them and therefore would not turn to see? That person would be standing there smiling like a fool at how stupid Bart was for not turning around. Quite possibly the person could posses a knife or a gun in their hand, ready to injure Bart…or the injured man upstairs.

But that was just a thought.

Chuckling softly, the boy finished his glass of water and placed it on the rack upside down so that it may dry. Such a funny thought, more idiotic than scary. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the microwave nearby. It read only one in the morning…wow, he felt old. Back then he would consider this early and ready to party…now he was just tired and wanting a bed to sleep in.

Giving into his body's demand, he turned to head up the stairs. Maybe he would lay with Bob…just for safety. It'd be best to be next to him in case something was to happen instead of in the guest room a few feet away. Yeah…and Bob might think he was still in the hospital if he woke up alone. It made sense to sleep with him…and only sleep…for now.

Yet as soon as he turned, his earlier stupid thought came alive.

Cecil stood there with the same gun in hand, smiling at him like a fat cat looking at a trapped mouse. Bart immediately jumped and did something he hadn't done in ages. "AHH! SIDESHOW BO-…wait." He paused in his screech. Making himself break the normal routine, he shouted, "AHH! CECIL!" It lacked the drama but it would have to do.

"Hello there Bart." Cecil smiled as though they were meeting for afternoon tea. "You look tired…you weren't planning on going to bed with my ill fated brother, were you now?"

"What do you want?" He evaded the question and took a step back, his eyes narrowing instantly after calming down. The likelihood of him being shot was small but still existent. Cecil had proved that he liked Bart, meaning he wouldn't kill him…but he might go all psychotic and do just that so 'no one else could have him'. "What have you done to Bob?!" He snapped, just realizing that he could easily have done something and was hinting by saying 'ill fated'.

"Nothing…yet." He answered both questions in two words and grinned. "I want you to come with me." Almost as an afterthought, he looked at the gun and then back up, obviously nervous.

Bart stared at him with bewilderment. "…What?" He whispered, clearly taken back. "Go with you? Never!"

Instantly the man was upon him, shoving him against the counter with the gun pointed at his throat. Though he tried his best not to, a soft whimper left his lips as he leaned back, trying in vain to get away from the gun. "He always takes what I want!" Cecil growled in a rant. "He took my job as Krusty's sidekick! Now he's taking you! I'll be damned if he does!" His muffled growl soon became a shout, probably awakening Bob.

The gun was cocked. "Tell me who you want…me…or Bob? Keep in mind…that I control your life." He hissed in the boy's ears, glaring coldly with jealousy.

Bart felt his blood turn to ice. If he said Cecil, he would never see Bob again. Would Cecil kill him to ensure he couldn't rescue Bart back? Or would he just take Bart far, far away? Either way, it did not seem right. And yet if he said Bob, he risked not only his own life, but the man he loved!

He was trapped…

Bart had to just rely on what his heart would tell his brain to do instead of the other way around. Like in the days at school, he would have to just blurt out an answer and come what may.

"…Bob."

The gun did not go off like he thought it would. Its owner did not knock him out with the butt of it and carry him off. Instead, the owner, Cecil, just stared. Amazed by the word that left his mouth, he stepped back and blinked. "…Even…even knowing I could have ended your life…you chose _him_?"

"…Yes." He whispered softly.

Cecil frowned slightly and let the gun fall to his side. For a moment Bart felt pity for him. He looked like a wounded dog, one that was just kicked and insulted. But there was a noise at the staircase, catching his attention instantly.

"Bob!" He exclaimed before running over to help him, noting how shaky his body was just from taking the stairs. "You shouldn't be out of bed!" He gently pointed out, feeling like the older adult here.

"I heard something. Shouting. What happened?" He demanded, looking over Bart's head to search the room.

"Cecil was here. He…" The young Simpson started to explain but as he turned to see the pitiful man again, he paused. Cecil wasn't there. In fact, it was like he floated out; the door was ajar but clearly he had taken out through it. "He…"

"Explain it to me in bed." Bob whispered, looking a bit surprised that something had happened right under his nose. "I can't feel my feet."

After a second of hesitation, his young lover nodded. "Right." Gently he helped him back up the stairs and into the room, looking over his shoulder every now and then. There were so many questions to ask and explanations to receive…but when would he get them? Would he even receive such things? Dare he ask those questions?

For now, he decided as he helped Bob lie down, he would just relax and listen to the older man's breathing. Tomorrow, he promised quietly, he would explain to him what occurred and maybe call his family.


End file.
